


Oxblood and Diamonds

by Crucified_To_A_Star



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Crimes & Criminals, Doyoung is basically passed around the gang, Drag Queens, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Eventual Smut, Fights, Historical Accuracy, Journalism, M/M, Murder, NCT 127 Ensemble-centric, Nct dream ensemble - Freeform, Organized Crime, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Semi-Public Sex, Threats of Violence, Threesome - M/M/M, Violence, Voyeurism, WayV Ensemble - Freeform, inspired by Regular Kick It Boss and so many more of NCTs concepts oof, side MarkHyuckIl, side yujae, this is going to be a wild ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 83,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23575525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crucified_To_A_Star/pseuds/Crucified_To_A_Star
Summary: Somehow, Doyoung finds himself initiated into Neo City's most vicious and prevalent gangs to write an expose on the life of underground crime.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Kim Jungwoo, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 236
Kudos: 659





	1. Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Okay!!! So!!! I literally have been dying to write this for MONTHS because I visited the mob museum in Las Vegas and I just- 
> 
> I wanted to write something that followed the way that real life mobsters moved and so I am really excited for this fic. I'm projecting it to be a loooong one, which is why i'm splitting it up into bite sized pieces that I can manage more easily than just doing it all in one shot. I am projecting 50k~ but don't quote me on that, it's always subject to change with me as I never know for sure until it's done lol
> 
> Anyways!!! Please be mindful of the tags, also I will update them with every chapter or as new TW's are added. If I put any content that's generally triggering in a chapter, I'll put a warning in the notes to give a head's up. 
> 
> as always, Enjoy!!
> 
> (Style updated April 16th, 2020)

Doyoung had made many mistakes in his life. Once when he was five he stole a pack of gum from the store. When he was thirteen he accidentally threw a ball through his neighbors apartment window. In university he had cheated on a test that he _still_ flunked and had to retake the course. Doyoung had made _plenty_ of mistakes in his life. 

This, however, was not a mistake. 

It was practically suicide. 

How he had gotten roped into it, he wasn’t sure. There was a buzzing memory of his colleagues convincing him, a fuzzy reminder of the money he’d be paid to expose secrets, a lingering threat of potential firing- it all was in the back of his mind, but it felt distorted, as though he had dreamed in one night after too many shots with too many people. His body was on fire, though he couldn’t feel his limbs, heart having stopped circulating as it seemed he lost his ability to breathe. 

The room he was in was smokey, dark, and _loud_ despite the fact that no one was talking above a private mumble. There were dancers on the glossy round stages, men and women in sparkly fringes and painted makeup, enticing everyone’s eyes. The speakeasy was warm in a comfortable way, but Doyoung could feel his back growing more moist under the entirely black three piece suit. His eyes were locked on the stout whiskey glass clenched between white knuckles, the bar pristine mahogany, and he muffled the sound of his conscience with a long gulp of burning liquor.

A hand fell heavily on his shoulder and it took every cell in Doyoung’s body not to fling himself out of his seat in terror at the contact, his body understanding and prepared to react to the danger he had found himself in despite his minds consent. His mind won out and instead of fleeing, he looked out of the corner of his eye at the offender, hand still burning the skin on his shoulder.

Johnny. 

The man was _big_ ; his height paired with the incredible confidence he carried himself with made it so he filled every room he entered, his presence authoritative and demanding of attention. There was nothing small about the man, a towering shadow always lingering. The juxtaposition of Johnny, though, was the ever-friendly smile on his mouth, honeyed eyes crinkling and hard features softening. He _looked_ like a teddy bear that had been splattered with blood. Something soft, something murderous, something undeniably _wrong_.

Doyoung relaxed slightly under his gaze, his mellow presence melting the ice that had encapsulated Doyoung’s limbs. Doyoung had been held prisoner in his mind and body, self-preservation outweighing everything now. “Mr. Suh.” Doyoung said, sipping his whiskey once again, swallowing the fear that clung to the back of his throat, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” 

Johnny continued to smile affably, head bobbing slightly, “I didn’t expect to see you drinking so soon.” There was a _tone_ to his voice, a vague interest laced through his words, one that sent Doyoung on high alert once more. Around here, Doyoung learned, words always meant more than the intent of what someone spoke. Monologues meant nothing if the words were encrypted, Doyoung had thought. 

His mind caught the threat after his body had and he shrugged, both in response to Johnny and to try and free his body from the shackles holding him to the barstool. Everything was heavier when the other man was around, the world drenched in honey only for the bear to come around. “It’s not every day I join a gang.” 

“Are you regretting your decision?” Johnny was still smiling kindly, though his words tasted like cyanide lacing his whiskey. Doyoung set his drink back on the bar, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that Johnny, afterall, was the Boss’s husband and once again he found himself in his den. Doyoung wondered how many times he would poke the bear before it was one too many.

Doyoung shook his head slowly, eyes level despite the fact that Johnny’s gaze made his knees weak and felt like he’d become Atlas under the Earth, “No,” His words were simple and easy, though they were anything but thoughtless, “It’s just that. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s not every day I join a gang. I’m drinking to celebrate, I’m drinking to mourn. I’m drinking to another day living. That’s all.” 

Doyoung couldn't pinpoint the shift, but Johnny’s smile had melted into a genuine smile, his demeanor much less threatening, and suddenly Doyoung could breathe again, the weight of the man suddenly off of his chest. Johnny clasped his hand on his shoulder once again, his red velvet suit looking _so_ much more expensive than Doyoung’s plain one and the way it shined under the dim lighting was all Doyoung could focus on. “I like you, Doyoung. I hope you don’t disappoint me.” 

_I will and you will kill me for it._ “I would never.” 

Doyoung had lived an incredibly quiet life. His family was close, his parents working-class as he pursued a degree in journalism and his brother chased his dreams of being an actor. They lived in the suburbs on the outskirts of Neo City, surrounded by lush meadows and pretty greenery and never any danger. Doyoung had never been threatened by _anything_. Everything had been quaint. He had been a stellar student and made Dean’s list nearly every year. He was a tutor, was in multiple clubs, had several scholarships, and overall had been the poster boy of everyone’s dreams. When he had been offered an internship at NeoTech Print, he had been ecstatic. It wasn’t every day that the top print in the city took on interns. Doyoung had jumped in head first, without a second's hesitation. 

What Doyoung had not expected, however, was the day into the second year of his internship where his boss had requested he joined their local -and thriving- underground crime ring. 

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Doyoung had asked, eyes nearly falling from his skull, “You want me to _what_?” 

Manager Kim had sat patiently, multiple senior writers in the room with them, all attempting empathy but looking far more relieved than he thought they intended. No one wanted to be the body hanging in the woods, metaphorically or literally. When Doyoung stopped stuttering, floundering for the words stuck to his tongue, Manager Kim responded in a voice laced with condescending opinions and bitter ignorance to anything but the money involved, “This will be the biggest moment in journalism history if you can pull this off.” 

“ _If_!” Doyoung nearly screeched, his speech slipping between casual and formal as his brain short-circuited, his edges frayed against the sandpaper of his words, “ _If_ is a big risk, Mr. Kim. _If_ in this scenario is me being stuck in a mob for life or my _death_ , the latter of the two more likely. I can’t do this, I won’t do this.” 

“That’s a shame,” Mr. Kim sighed, leaning back in his seat, the creaking filling the room as they other employees eyes were cast to the table or skillfully avoiding Doyoung’s. Manager Kim’s features were pinched and wrinkled, contorted in a manner that looked like an old oil painting, and Doyoung had never thought of the man as ugly before, but he figured every opinion was subject to change with new information. “You were doing so well in your schooling.” 

“I’ll be expelled if I join the _mafia_.” Doyoung stressed, mind whirring as he attempted to process the situation he had been dropped into. He was stuck; a mouse in a corner facing either the cat or the broom.

“Are you sure your enrollment is secure now? Are you sure about your brothers’ future’s security?” The air in the room became heavy, the atmosphere finally collecting the words he spoke and settling them onto Doyoung’s skin. It dawned on him in that exact moment that he hadn’t had a choice to begin with.

Mr. Kim had done his work and found the weakest link. He was prepared to exploit it fully until he reaped every benefit there was to offer and shoulder none of the consequences of any of his actions.

The thoughts raced through Doyoung’s mind as he processed exactly what Mr. Kim was implying, the words still hanging in the air like an advertisement for blackmail. If he declined he would be fired and expelled, possibly blacklisted from other publishing companies outside of Neo City. The years he spent working towards his degree would mean nothing as he would leave his four-year program with no degree and no job and no potential in journalism. He would have to start over in a new city, leave his family, and try again. Additionally, his brother’s career was at stake, Doyoung no longer being held in this holy fire alone. 

Doyoung’s mind sorted every option, filed it, and studied them all again, but he was drawing blanks on logical options. The tunnel was narrow and it was beginning to look as though there was a single option and that was forward. Manager Kim also knew this, his voice bile-inducing as he spoke with an overly sympathetic tone, “Listen, Dongyoung, you’re a great journalist. It’s why I chose you.” His first lie, Doyoung noted, jaw clenching, “If you succeed at this, you’ll be world renowned.” Another lie, Doyoung knew the credit would never be his; he was just an intern after all. “You’ll just be going in and describing what life is like for the members. We already have people inside who will help you. All you need to do is join. You don’t have to break their trust and reveal secrets, though the juicer the details, the larger the pay-out. It’s a no lose for you, unless you deny.” 

_No lose_ , Doyoung thought, that was such a comedic phrase considering it would never be true for him. It was a no lose situation for the company, the worst that could happen was losing an intern. For Doyoung, it was a no win.

There were murmurs from his colleagues, all agreeing, pressuring, faceless suddenly, as they encouraged the bloodletting. There was no out for Doyoung, he knew. There was either the eternal exilement of himself and potentially his family, or there was living the life of underground crime. 

Doyoung had just wanted a quiet life.

He received what he thought to be his last bit of quiet in the backseat of a Cadillac that was casually driving through the city amongst herds of other cars, blending seamlessly. Glossy black, fake plates, and a driver that looked like a middle-class dad in a baseball cap, the Cadillac wasn’t noticeable amongst the other cars, hiding amongst the traffic easily. They were headed for city-lines, Doyoung still unsure of where they were going and why, but voice trapped in his throat from a dry tongue and a heavy mind.

Next to him was sat a man with rich brown hair that reached his shoulders but was currently half tied up in a bun, features almost doll-like, body lithe and muscular. He was dressed in baggy black cargo pants, a black and faded band tee shirt hanging off of him flatteringly, and earrings decorating the entire length of the side facing Doyoung. Something about him made Doyoung taste blood.

Johnny was in the front seat, dressed equally as casually in jeans and a tee shirt, his emerald colored zipped hoodie set on his lap for the drive. Johnny was on his phone, playing what looked to be a block-breaking game, while the man next to him stared out the window. Doyoung hadn’t been acknowledged since he was shoved into the vehicle, the entire ride being unnervingly silent. The driver was practically made of silicone, having made not a single noise or spoken a single word since the engine first started.

The worst part, in his own odd mind, was that Doyoung hadn’t been introduced to the strange man he was seated next to, hadn’t even been told his name. Curiosity licked at the nape of his neck, but the questions that begged to be asked were held captive on his tongue. He was unsure of protocol in these situations, unsure of where the lines in the sand became lines in cement. Doyoung wasn’t willing to test the waters, no matter how shallow.

Doyoung turned his attention from the man to his window, watching the tall buildings, cute cafes, and hundreds of pedestrians meandering about Neo City. Everything was so uncomfortably _normal_ , something Doyoung knew he would never feel again, the heavy aching in his chest a distraction from the acute awkwardness of the atmosphere within the vehicle. 

He watched as the buildings grew shorter, the crowds thinned, and suddenly the city turned to suburbs. The houses here were small and pretty, trimmed yards and neat fences, and Doyoung longed to live in one with a future spouse, something quaint and happy, something like he grew up in. That was a fantasy now, one he began to understand was nothing but a memory from his childhood. He tore his gaze from the outside, his heart violent in his chest again in a way that made him feel as though jumping out of the moving SUV would be less painful.

Doyoung’s eyes found their way back to the man next to him, studying the rings on his fingers and the tattoos that peaked out from the holes in his shirt. There weren’t any on the visible skin of his arms, but Doyoung assumed his work started at the tee shirt sleeve that hung abnormally low on his bicep. This man wasn’t unattractive, not in the slightest, but there was something _different_ about him. Punks weren’t common in their city, not many people being comfortable or confident enough to break out of the traditional taste that lingered in the red brick and cement. Doyoung could respect it, despite the way that the man felt as though touching him would make Doyoung bleed.

“You keep staring at me.” Doyoung’s attention was snapped into focus immediately as he realized the other man had been looking at him now. He stuttered an apology, words tripping over his own tongue as he attempted to get it out clearly. The man smirked, the eyeliner around his round eyes a stark contrast to the light blue contacts he wore, giving him an unnerving appearance that made Doyoung’s skin crawl. “Keep staring and it either means you want to fuck or fight. I’ll let you pick which.” 

Doyoung’s skin warmed and he picked at the top of his navy colored button down, fingers nervously playing with the fabric. Johnny had said to dress casually and Doyoung had defended that this _was_ his casual. That made Johnny roll his eyes and say he’d regret it later. Doyoung was understanding his exasperation, currently regretting his attire as the heat was trapped against his body and it made his nerves more fried than normal. “I just don’t know your name.” 

“Utah.” The man said simply, voice rolling from the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue and it made Doyoung’s body want to shrink. Something about the man was incredibly _sharp_ in a way that felt _dangerous_. 

“Like the state!” Johnny quipped from the front, looking back with a wide grin, pulling Doyoung out of his momentary fear.

“Oh,” Doyoung hadn’t felt so dumb before, mind covered in a fog that wouldn’t dissipate. The man had him utterly confused. He tried to rouse himself from the disorientation, switching topics, “Johnny where-”

“Ah-ah,” Johnny interrupted, still smiling like an open bear trap in the forest, “I thought we discussed this.” 

Doyoung paused, momentarily reeling for where he went wrong before it clicked. Anytime they were away from their property, they were _never_ to be referred to by name. Something about anonymity that was understandable. Doyoung had always been curious as to how their identities weren’t obvious; he had always wondered how they could wander through the world without being arrested on sight. Doyoung could admit that the one benefit to this was having nagging queries settled.

Doyoung swallowed, correcting himself at Johnny’s tone, “Youngho,” He corrected and Johnny’s smile brightened in silent praise, “Where are we going?”

“To the woods, Tokki.” Was his simple response before he turned back forward and returned to his game, clearly ending the conversation. Doyoung’s shoulders pressed against the back of the seat as he attempted to become comfortable, trying to alleviate the entirely too heavy feeling in his stomach. Heading into the woods, in the current context, rarely ever meant something positive.

They drove for at least three hours into the thick boreal woods west of Neo City, the trees all pines and evergreens and the highway they had been on practically unused. The driver had taken a turn onto an old logging road, the earth bumpy and ride sickening, as they headed deeper into the woods. Once they reached a large enough opening for the car to turn around in, they stopped and Doyoung felt his heart leap into his throat. Utah was the first out, wordless and quick. Doyoung followed, exiting on his side, unsure of whether he should or shouldn’t be getting out. Johnny stayed inside of the car. 

Doyoung moved around the car to look at Utah for direction, the other man stone silent still, not even glancing towards him when he rounded the vehicle. 

Doyoung kicked a pebble around with his shoe, completely unsure of how to break through the strange air between them. Just as he was about to speak, Johnny jumped from the car, all length and energy, bouncing brightly over. “It’s time! We better hurry before the sun sets below the canopy line.” Johnny shuffled Doyoung around the car by his shoulders, pushing him gently against the door, “Stay here.” The words were breathy and kind, but it was clear they weren’t a suggestion.

Doyoung could only watch Johnny’s head bob around the car as he opened the trunk and sorted through its contents, listening to the rustling and clatters and occasional metallic tinks and soft thumps. Doyoung was trying not to, though he would glance to Utah frequently, nervously swallowing as he watched the man play with a large hunters knife that he seemed to have procured from thin air. 

Utah caught his eye after the third glance, grinning wickedly as he continued to play with the blade. Doyoung licked his lips nervously, causing Utah’s expression to grow the slightest bit darker. Doyoung’s feet nearly took him into the forest when Utah’s tongue traced the flat side of the blade before sheathing it. Johnny slammed the trunk shut, returning with a handful of rope, bringing Doyoung out of his enthrallment. “Hey Utah, take Tokki and head out. I’ll be along shortly. I’m having some,” He paused and glanced to the closed trunk before looking back at them again, pondering his words momentarily “Difficulties.” 

Utah nodded, turning on his toes and immediately swaggering off towards what Doyoung assumed was nowhere, the woods thick and dark and hungry. Upon seeing his hesitation, Johnny spoke lowly behind him and despite the distance between them, Doyoung felt his skin prickle, “Follow him, Tokki. You _really_ don’t want to be the next reason we are out here.” Doyoung’s spine rattled with the words and his feet took the threat far before his brain did, his body moving quickly to catch up with Utah. 

The two walked in silence, Doyoung occasionally tripping over branches or slipping on the wet moss, the forest encapsulating them in stifling silence that shrouded Doyoung’s mind with uninvited thoughts. “So,” Doyoung spoke, “Is your name really Utah?” 

“No,” His voice was terse though it wasn’t angry, “Don’t ask me that while we aren’t at home.” 

“I mean, we are all alone-” Doyoung stopped instantly, mouth and movement, when Utah whirled on him. He moved like a panther, body sleek and smooth and quick, motions seemingly effortless as he crowded the man. Yuta was shorter than him by a small bit, but his presence was suffocating, completely onerous on Doyoung’s psyche. 

“Unless that’s followed up with ‘ _so we could fuck_ ’, I don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to get into those habits, Tokki, they’re dangerous. The rules are there for a reason.” Utah’s voice was deep, his accent lilting his words in a manner that nicked at Doyoung’s confidence.

Doyoung nodded quickly, mouth attempting to clear his muddy intentions, “Understood. I just- I don’t know when I _should_ ask for your name. We aren’t supposed to use the nicknames at home, but if I don’t know your name how am I supposed to ask later?” 

Utah mulled his words, fingers playing with Doyoung’s shirt as he did so, before he finally sighed, “Ask tonight while we celebrate.” 

“Celebrate?” Doyoung watched as Utah continued on, confusion still clinging to him like a wind sprite. 

“Yeah,” Utah said as soon as he was sure Doyoung was following again, his footsteps unmistakeable against the twigs and leaves and earth, “Tonight we will celebrate.” The words he spoke did not equate to the tone he was using, words promising joy but tone promising grief. Doyoung just felt himself continue to grow more anxious the more he heard, continually asking himself how his life had played out to be _this_. 

Doyoung was going to inquire further before they pushed through two heavy trees’ skirts and into a tiny clearing. Here in this clearing the earth was revealed, the soil churned and fresh, with only a few birch trees standing tall. Doyoung gagged as his eyes travelled the length of one particularly thick birch, a noose dangling like a ghost amongst the white limbs. Underneath that noose, messily sprawled along the ground, was a pile of bones, picked entirely spotless by woodland animals. Someone had been left hanging there, creaking in the forest, and it hadn’t been an accident.

Doyoung had suspected the purpose of their journey today, though he had been unwilling to acknowledge these facts. Now, as he stood amongst the fresh dirt and hidden corpses, he had no choice but to connect every dot that he avoided on the map.

This was one of the gang’s dumping sites, hidden amongst heavy trees and entirely unnoticeable, untraceable, and unfindable. 

This was where blood watered the earth and it wasn’t any wonder nothing grew in this small clearing, death toxifying the soil.

“We’re out here to kill someone.” Doyoung spoke, voice low, the forest swallowing his words.

When he lifted his eyes from the dirt beneath his feet, Utah was already watching him, expression indiscernible. “Yeah,” His voice was completely neutral. The two stared at each other for a moment, though it lacked the aggression of any of their previous matches. There were words that hung between the two, both of them nearly speaking several times, though there wasn’t any way to perfectly verbalize the moment they were in. 

In less than a moment, a distant rustling caught their attention, forcing Doyoung to break away from him. The sound was of someone walking as they drug something and with every heavy tug, Doyoung could feel it down his back. As the sound got closer, he could hear the muffled voice of someone and the quiet, pointless thrashing. Within a minute, Johnny shoved through the trees, dragging someone by their bound wrists. Their face was covered by a black bandana, clothes slightly torn from the way the forest floor had bitten at them.

“Sorry it took so long,” Johnny breathed, smiling still, “He was awfully reluctant.” 

Doyoung winced as Johnny dropped the man to the ground roughly, the victim huffing from the impact. “Understandable.” Utah responded simply, voice as neutral as before. 

Doyoung’s face was hot, his body hot, but he couldn’t feel his fingers as though he were sat in the cold for too long. The nerves in his body were struggling to keep up with every emotion his brain produced, body on overdrive though completely shut down.

“So, Tokki,” Johnny said, catching his attention, tone amiable as ever, “Let me explain this to you. This man was caught stealing from one of Rose’s girls. He’s one of V’s ex-killers, but he got booted because he was sloppy. He took it out on one of Rose’s girls.” Johnny bent down and lifted the man by his throat, dragging him to his knees as he gaped, “He violated her, took her money, and thought he could skip town before we caught his scent. That’s an awfully long list of crimes against our family, wouldn’t you say?”

Though the cause was unclear, Doyoung felt sick to his stomach; he couldn’t pinpoint whether it was knowing this man would be dead by nightfall or that he had done things sick enough that Johnny refused to elaborate on. Either way, the acidic burn ate away at Doyoung’s throat and he prayed this time to be over sooner and reminded himself to bring antacids with him for future runs. Still, he spoke, voice empty, “I’d say that that _is_ an awful lot. There’s a lot of trust there that has been broken.”

Utah hummed in agreement, seeming to have finally broken out of his own spell, “Even the new Tokki understands it, why couldn’t you?” 

The man, of course, was unable to respond, mumbling fruitlessly against the gag in his mouth. “What do you think the punishment is, Tokki, for the offenses?” 

“Death.” Doyoung’s voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Doyoung was able to peel his eyes from the man to meet Johnny’s, seeing the older man smiling brightly still. “I think I agree, Tokki. I’ll give you two options and I’d like you to pick one.” Doyoung nodded silently in response. “Option one is that we can tie him to that tree over there using the rope you brought and head home and let nature take its course. Option two is a bullet between his eyes and we head home.”

Doyoung’s hands trembled by his side, eyes falling back to the ground as he felt both sets of eyes studying him for a response. It took Doyoung a moment to steady himself to speak, attempting to remain neutral, “One sounds like the punishment that would equal the crimes, but I think you want me to pick number two.” 

“Oh?” Johnny’s voice went higher, interest lacing his words as he studied Doyoung, “And why is that?” 

Doyoung met his eyes again, fingers clenching, “You want me involved directly. It’s not a coincidence that I’m sworn in for not even two days and brought out here. It’s insurance to make sure my name is included. I can’t snitch if I’m involved.”

Johnny nodded slowly, eyes hooding, and for the first time since meeting him, Johnny’s expression was entirely genuine, “No wonder Boss was so excited to have you. You’re smart. Intuitive. Bold. I like it. What’s your decision, Tokki?”

Doyoung dropped the rope, reaching his hand out, palm up. Doyoung’s words weren’t necessary and he was thankful for the silence being accepted, afraid he would vomit if he unclenched his jaw. Johnny smiled wide and Doyoung dropped his eyes, attempting to brace himself for the moments that would follow. There was a shuffling before the heavy, cold metal was dropped into his hand and Doyoung understood fully the weight of what he was going to do. The weight of a life felt oddly similar to that of the .22 resting in his palm. 

“Take off his mask.” Utah said, voice low and somewhere deep in his words there was a sick excitement that Doyoung could place, “I want him to see.” Doyoung wasn’t sure if he was referring to the victim or himself, but either way Johnny’s hands slid the bandana away before he could object.

Doyoung stared into the dark blue eyes, shrouded in tears, face flushed. Silky blonde hair was matted and wet and the gag in his mouth kept him from speaking, though there was an unmistakable pleading there. The man hadn’t given up, but Doyoung had. There was no one there to save either of them. Doyoung knew he was on the same sinking ship as this man, lifejackets lost to the sea. Doyoung was just lucky enough he could swim.

Doyoung had never shot a gun, never even seen one in real life. It was Utah who came behind him, raising his arm and positioning it, explaining in his ear the way to cock it and the recoil he would feel, his breath wet and hot against Doyoung face and neck, leaving him twitchy. Johnny had moved off to the side, watching the two, but out of the way of stray bullets, lest he miss his first shot. Utah’s hands never left Doyoung’s waist, fingers burning scars into his soft skin, watching his every move with complete rapture, there to assist _and_ ensure he completed his task. There would be no failure tolerated today.

Doyoung followed through and despite the fact that the shot numbed his ears, the sound of the slumping body hitting the soft earth was one he couldn’t pick from his eardrums. 

The trip back to Neo City was lighter, Yuta and Johnny jesting as the driver played music. Doyoung’s eyes were glued to the outside world, unseeing to everything as he attempted to avoid the blood spray that tainted his hands and shirt. 

He couldn’t help but think of how this entire thing was a mistake, how regardless of his initial intentions, he was no longer able to head back from the path he was on. The tunnel was thin and one-way.

Doyoung looked down at his all too formal shirt, mindlessly picking at the buttons. Next time, he thought, he would dress casually.


	2. Yuta's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Obviously it wasn’t perfect. My life, I mean my life. My life wasn’t perfect otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Plus, this isn’t the place for street rats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [IMPORTANT]
> 
> omg!!! okay, i'm so sorry this took a bit longer than i expected and also isn't as long as i wanted, but i started this chapter three times, made it to 3k each time and hated it so i had to start over constantly. I figured out the reason ~why~ i wasn't liking it was bc of the way i was writing it!
> 
> So!!! I ended up changing a lot in the first chapter, tailoring it to a different style of writing, one that i felt might be a bit more appropriate for this story and not quite as casual as it had been and ALSO has some small new details that will be important for the future chapters as i think i've finally figured out how to get to where i'm going with this story.
> 
> so i HIGHLY recommend re-reading the first chapter before reading this one. Anyways!! Enjoy xx

_Nakamoto Yuta_. That was the man’s name, Doyoung learned. 

When Yuta had said _celebrate_ , Doyoung wasn’t sure what he pictured, though it certainly wasn’t what he received. They were sat in the speakeasy again, mahogany wood walls with burgundy velvet and black leather, air thick with incense and liquor and something faintly _herbal_. Taeyong and Johnny were perched in a far corner, tangled by limbs and lips, and Doyoung avoided looking at them. 

Yuta would sometimes pass a shameless stare, eyes locked on the couple over the rim of his stout liquor glass. By the third time, Doyoung’s whiskey tainted tongue set itself free, “Don’t you think it’s weird to watch people make-out?” 

Yuta’s eyes fell back to Doyoung, tongue darting out of his lips before he smiled, mouth full of daggers, “Not when they enjoy it.” Doyoung’s expression must have been something mortified, because Yuta snorted on his laugh and set his drink down. “Taeyong thrives on attention and it’d be rude to ignore him.”

Doyoung set his own empty glass down, body folding inwards on itself. He couldn’t recall how many times the bartender had found his way over and filled his glass as he did now, memories just too hard to recall in his current state. His mind was a tad too murky, too cluttered with alcohol and walls he was building. “That just sounds so strange.” 

Yuta nodded and Doyoung wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the stress of his environment, but Yuta looked unusually attractive in the dim lights, the sharp angles of his face enunciated by the shady lighting, eyes glittering, and that ever present stare that felt like a bed of knives tickling Doyoung’s back as it waited for his wrong move. “I guess it does, but y’know what else sounds strange?” Doyoung must have hummed gently, the sound lost on his ears as he was lost in the dips of his exposed collarbone. “A man with a perfect life coming and winding himself up as a street rat.”

Doyoung laughed, only half paying attention, vision as blurred as his train of thoughts, tongue given free-will, “Obviously it wasn’t perfect. My life, I mean my life. My life wasn’t perfect otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Plus,” Doyoung dropped his chin in his hand, unabashedly admiring Yuta by this point, the alcohol fully bleeding into his system, “This isn’t the place for street rats.” 

Yuta’s arms were crossed, his chest looking broader than Doyoung recalled, the fabric of his shirt finally framing his muscles nicely with the tension. “Then what is this for?”

Doyoung snickered, lifting his glass again and taking several deep gulps. If this was the conversation they would be having, then he wanted to forget about the day entirely. “This is an entire business operation. None of you got into this because you were forced or had no other options. This is run so smoothly there’s not a chance that none of you are educated. It’s seamless. I want to know _how_ this turned from just a one man drug den to a multifaceted crime ring with connections across the continent and overseas.” 

“So, you know about Taeyong creating this, then?” Yuta’s voice was even, unreadable, but Doyoung decided to let the man pick his brain momentarily. 

“Yeah, I did my research. I wouldn’t come in here blind.” Doyoung went to take another drink only to find the glass empty, ice bumping his lips. Maybe he shouldn’t have another, but when the tender filled his glass again, he didn’t say no. “What I don’t know is any of the details.” 

“Do you think you should?” Doyoung watched Yuta for a long moment, brain attempting to process how to answer, but fully distracted by the way the tattoos peaked out from his shirt. “Doyoung?” 

“Hm?” Doyoung asked, blinking roughly, eyes stinging. He had drifted off, attention fully stolen, “What?”

Yuta’s smile this time was soft, “I think you’re done drinking for the night.” 

Doyoung shrugged, “I guess.” Doyoung didn’t notice when the bartender took his glass, nor did he notice the new people enter the bar, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind them. Their voices were lost on Doyoung’s ears as he studied the glimpses of the colored ink hidden beneath the fabric. “Show me your tattoos.” 

Yuta looked down at his chest before looking back to Doyoung. There was a second where Doyoung almost begged before Yuta slid from the bar on much sturdier legs than Doyoung would have. Doyoung couldn’t recall how much Yuta had drank, if anything at all, and he wondered if Yuta had gotten him inebriated intentionally. Doyoung’s mind was a clean slate when Yuta slipped the shirt up his torso and over his head. His body was lean, curvy in an unexpected way, with smooth abs and defined pecs and the filigree dips of his collarbones. Decorating his skin were several motifs, swirling patterns, and dragons. Along the curve of his ribs was a langue Doyoung couldn’t pin-point in his current state, but the calligraphy was beautifully done in neat lines. The sharp concave of his hipbones held several dainty flowers, almost like cherry blossoms, that curved into the lining of his pants. His belly button caught his eye, two silver nubs vertical of each other decorating it. “You have a belly button ring?” 

Yuta laughed and slid into the seat next to him, forcing Doyoung into the corner of the booth, “Yeah, I do.” 

“Did it hurt?” Doyoung asked, fingers pressing into his own stomach at the thought. 

Yuta’s face scrunched slightly, though it wasn’t anger, more thoughtful and almost _cute_. “No, not really. It was very tender afterwards, though. _That_ was when it hurt the most.” 

Doyoung nodded, jaw slightly slack. “That’s kind of hot.” Doyoung’s hand covered his own mouth, eyes squinting, as he once again wondered just how much he had drunk. “Fuck, ignore that.”

Yuta laughed, this time honest and pure, lacking the sharp tinging of metal that seemed to haunt him. “Thank you. We should probably get you to bed.” 

Doyoung nodded, “That’s probably a good idea.” 

Doyoung’s legs were as shaky as expected and Yuta practically carried him to their destination. The world swam with every movement and Doyoung kept his eyes shut as a way to protect himself against it. Yuta was humming a song Doyoung couldn’t recognize, but it was hauntingly beautiful and it made him press his ear closer to his chest. The entire way to the room, Doyoung mumbled gentle praises, voice subdued against the heaviness of intoxication. Yuta would thank him every time, equally as mild. 

By the time Yuta shoved open a door and carried Doyoung in, he truly _was_ carrying Doyoung, body folded over Yuta’s arms limply. Yuta set him on the bed and slowly helped him out of his clothes until he was in his boxers and then tucked into the sheets. Yuta rolled him onto his side, tucking a pillow behind him, sliding his head to the edge. “If you throw up please do it off of the bed. Also, don’t suffocate yourself. I’ll check on you in the morning to see if you survive the night.” 

Doyoung laughed though it was caught in his nose, body melting on contact with the comfortable bed. The world was fading quickly, his mind slipping off into the buzzing blackness. “You don’t want to stay?” 

“Another time.” Yuta’s voice was airy and Doyoung couldn’t pinpoint when he disappeared, though the next time his mind was clear enough to register his surroundings, Yuta was gone. 

When Doyoung woke up the next morning, his head throbbed and eyes watered. His mouth was inconceivably dry and tasted like he had chewed on mothballs and hotdogs. The sun was blocked out from opaque white curtains, though the brightness was still far too much, too soon. He quickly ducked his head under the covers and moaned at the motion. He wasn’t sure where he was or when he had gotten there, but he was certain everything would return to him eventually.

A gentle knock on the door was muffled by the heavy duvet and Doyoung’s response was equally as smothered. He could hear the door open and close and the footsteps that made their way over to the bed sounded familiar, though Doyoung couldn’t place _how_. When the bed dipped, Doyoung almost peaked out, but the sickness hit him again and he refused to do so. 

“Doyoung,” _Yuta_ , “How are you feeling?” 

Glitchy memories played in Doyoung’s mind, ones of his tattoos, of being carried and of talking, though there was no audio to the memories. He couldn't remember the words he had spoken nor how he had gotten into this room. “Like shit.” 

“Yeah, you drank _a lot_. Have some water. I brought you banana toast, It’ll help.” Yuta’s voice was kinder than Doyoung remembered, a tad bit softer. Doyoung wondered what he had said through the night to change the way the man felt about him. 

It took a moment before Doyoung slid from the blanket and stared up to Yuta. The man’s hair was neatly styled today and framed his face nicely. He was makeup-less, but looked fresh and alive and Doyoung was positive he himself looked _neither_. He groaned and scrunched his face, “What day is today?”

Yuta helped him sit up, forcing the water and ibuprofen into his hand as soon as he did so, “Tuesday.”

Doyoung groaned again, head dropping against the wall as he tried to steady his equilibrium.“I have class tonight.” 

“You need to work through this hangover first.” Yuta’s stare was intense and Doyoung broke first, gulping the pills and water. He let himself settle for a second, stomach twisting at the liquid, but eventually settling. They sat together quietly for the time that it took Doyoung to eat, Yuta making the random offhanded comment about one thing or another, Doyoung nodding listlessly. 

“Clean clothes are on the dresser. There’s a bathroom directly across the hall. I recommend you clean up a bit. There’s some extra toiletries in the drawers. I have to get going, but I’ll see you.” Yuta gave his thigh a pat over the duvet and then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone again. 

Doyoung felt much better than he had when he had initially woken, though the world still slanted when he moved too fast. He contemplated re-dressing, but the extra motion was completely unwelcomed, opting to pray that he ran into no one along the way. 

Clothes in hand, Doyoung peaked around the doorjamb, looking down the hallway. Doyoung wasn’t sure who’s house the speakeasy sat under, but it was quaint looking. The walls were muted yellow and paintings of flowers and landscapes hung occasionally, knick-knacks sat on tables and shelves, the four other doors on the square upper-level all shut tight save the bathroom. Doyoung thought the layout was interesting; a skylight lit the level, the entire center open to the lower level, a balcony rail framing it. It felt oddly homey and completely different to the bar in the basement, all soft and warm and dainty. 

Doyoung shuffled over the light wood floor, socks slipping occasionally, before darting into the bathroom. His reflection looked _wrecked_ , a darkness clinging underneath his eyes and to his aura. He needed to scrub the blood from his body, find a way to function normally again. Distantly, he had the thought of seeing his therapist again, but he quickly shut it out with the sound of the shower. 

“What do you think of him?” Taeyong’s voice was conversational, but Yuta had long since known the man to be inquisitive casually. 

“He’s good,” Yuta said slowly, chewing on a slice of bacon as Taeyong continued cooking. He was humming sweetly, wearing an apron over his bright blue sweater and black jeans, moving fluidly through his kitchen. “I think you were right about him.”

Taeyong hummed in agreement, “I don’t think I’m wrong very often.” 

Yuta was prepared to respond when the sound of the upstairs bathroom door shut. “I wouldn’t get too ahead. He has potential. He’s awfully obstinate, though; he talks a lot and asks too many questions. If you tell him to shut up he has to ask _why_ or his head might explode.” 

Taeyong laughed and finished dishing his own plate, sliding next to Yuta at the breakfast bar that overlooked the kitchen. Everything was decorated in yellows and creams and pastel greens with frilly flowers and cute animals. Several novelty items, like the pink cat salt and pepper shakers and the bright purple dinosaur cookie jar looked severely out of place, but it was Taeyong and it suited the man’s personality, Yuta thought. “It sounds like you’re fond of him.”

“Don’t,” Yuta warned and Taeyong held his hands flat, surrendering, “I don’t want Jaehyun catching wind. Not yet.” 

“I’m minding my own business here, Yuta.” Taeyong crunched on his toast, still eyeing Yuta in a way that let the man know he was being studied. “He is quite pretty, though, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll see if he’s willing to join John and I at some point.” The snort that left Yuta was unattractive, but made Taeyong laugh, “What? Don’t think we’re what he’s looking for?” 

“No, just-” Yuta paused, memories of last night bubbling up, “Good luck with that. He’s rather straight-laced. I’m suspecting prudish, honestly. He was _uncomfortable_ last night by you two sharing spit.”

Taeyong’s only response was a shrug, “He’ll join eventually. Those types always do.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Yuta took a sip of his orange juice, eyeing Taeyong.

The grin Taeyong wore was wicked in a way Yuta had grown fond of over the years. When he looked like that he tasted like vodka, harsh and strong and lingering for hours. Yuta wasn’t sure which side of Taeyong he liked the most; the purple dinosaur cookie jar or the blood-thirsty renegade. “I rarely am.”

When Doyoung redressed, brushed his teeth, and towel dried his hair, he realized he hadn’t been given instructions after that. There was sound coming from the downstairs and he let himself get carried towards it. The downstairs was as pretty as the upstairs, though the furniture was dark green and wood with a few random pieces of upholstered grey and multi-colored paint. It was _homey_. 

Doyoung hadn’t seen the inside of the house, at least not sober enough to remember it. The entrance to the speakeasy was a toolshed in the backyard with a tunnel feeding into it. He hadn’t even realized this house was lived in until this morning. The rooms were separated by walls, but they were all incomplete squares, more like dividers than walls as each room was open to the next. When Doyoung rounded the wall that separated the living room from the next room, he realized it was the kitchen. Taeyong and Yuta were seated at the breakfast bar in the nook of the bay window, staring back at him. 

“Hi,” Doyoung felt as though that was the dumbest thing he could have said, but his mind was frazzled still from the night before and the way the two were staring at him left him at a complete lack of words. 

“Hi, Doyoung,” Taeyong was sweet, voice nasally and deep, and it made Doyoung’s nerves stand on edge again. He looked cute, hair fluffed and clothes casual, a pink apron dropped on the table next to his plate. 

“You look good in my clothes.” Yuta said simply, making Doyoung look down to the faded cream and green plaid and jeans he had been given. 

“I can return these next time I see you.” Doyoung was quick but Yuta waved him off. 

“Keep them.” Taeyong was studying the two with a wide grin. Doyoung felt like nothing more than a character in a simulator Taeyong was controlling, the man seeming to hold the strings to everything they did. 

“Who’s house is this?” Doyoung asked finally, looking around the sunlit room, “It’s lovely.” 

“Thank you,” Taeyong beamed, “Welcome to my home! Well, I should say Johnny, Yuta, and my home.” 

“You run your business out of the building your speakeasy is in? Isn’t that dangerous?” Doyoung wasn’t sure why he was asking, but he rolled his eyes when Yuta mumbled _again with the questions_.

Taeyong simply smiled, “The speakeasy isn’t in my basement, dear. It’s under the house directly behind us.”

Yuta seemed to pick up on Doyoung’s concerns, answering his thoughts before he could voice them, “I carried you around the block, but I’m sure you don’t remember that.” 

“I-I don’t remember much of last night.” Doyoung admitted, feeling the heat coloring his face again. 

“You really liked Yuta’s tattoos,” Taeyong winked, taking a bit of his scrambled eggs. 

Doyoung felt his stomach churning, hand gently resting on his abdomen in response, the embarrassment slowly eating him alive, “I shouldn’t have asked you to show me. That was inappropriate. I’m sorry.” 

Doyoung’s eyes were flittering around the kitchen, admiring the mismatched decor as Taeyong hummed, “He’s going to be fun.” 

Yuta directly ignored Taeyong, “It’s fine, Doyoung.”

“Anyways, I need to get going, I have class in a few hours and I haven’t done any of my assignments.” Doyoung was fidgeting with his hands and Taeyong couldn’t help but smile. 

“Have a good day, Doyoung.” 

Doyoung sat through class, mind so distant he might as well have not attended, the multicolored carpet his only focus as his lecture happened in a dimension he practically didn’t exist in. By the time he arrived home, he still felt like he was in a daze, his mother fretting the moment he walked through the door. 

“Mom, mom, mom, I’m fine! I’m okay, I’m sorry for not messaging you last night. I stayed over at a friends house unexpectedly, I’m sorry for worrying you.” Doyoung’s words were lost in his mother’s scolding, allowing her to fret and worry for the next half hour. By the time his brother returned home, she moved onto him, Doyoung slipping away to his room like a recluse and dumping his work on his desk. 

He sat on the floor, back against his sofa-bed, notebook in hand. 

His scribbles and shorthand and doodles were probably illegible to others, though Doyoung read through the notes quickly and started a list, attempting to make sense of the details he knew so far. 

_Lee Taeyong, Boss: Leader, founder, head._   
_Johnny Suh, Youngho: Side-man(?), husband, co-founder_   
_Nakamoto Yuta, Utah: Thug(?),????, best friend(?)_   
_Vision, V: mercenaries, members unknown_   
_??? Jungwoo, Rose: Brothel????_   
_????, J: Drugs?????_   
_Dream???: a runner???_

The amount of question marks and blanks covering the fresh page were frustrating him, the complete lack of information bothering him to his core. He set it down on the wood floor with a heavy sigh, bones brittle enough to shatter as he stood. The frustration settling in his chest, tired ache in his body, and overwhelmed conscience was all enough to almost make him cry. Instead, he made his way under the covers, still wearing Yuta’s clothing, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeee i hope you enjoyed! i want to upload the next chapter hopefully this weekend. I'm going to try and update this fic weekly bc i want the chapters to be longer than what i am currently writing them as, however i don't do well with consistency, so please bear with me lmao
> 
> anyways, stay safe and see you in the next chapter <3<3<3


	3. Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyoung's mother would be attending Sunday service alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooookay this is a bit of an interesting chapter ngl. i was going to keep it going, but then i decided it had a nice stopping point and called it.
> 
> I also get to finally introduce a few /side/ characters I've been excited about!!!
> 
> also, the masks are inspired by the Simon Says masks, if you need a visual!
> 
> anyways!! enjoy!!

The next few days were _uneventful_ in a way that felt an awful lot like the lack of events a corpse would also face. Doyoung had surprisingly been able to focus on his classes, participating at his almost-normal capacity, brain no longer knotted with confusion. Life felt almost normal for the four days he was left in his own silence, ears immune to the whisperings of his conscience reminding him of his desolate future. Everything felt comfortable, but there was that feeling of a ghost breathing down Doyoung’s neck, one he was having trouble ignoring. Things weren’t normal and the pond had to ripple eventually, shattering Doyoung from his rest beneath the surface.

Saturday night was when the first ripple began, disturbing the mirror like sheet of water that had formed in the stillness covering Doyoung. It was a simple text from a familiar contact, a contact that had his teeth chewing into the soft inner flesh of his lip. He had ceased that habit many years ago, such a sick little twitch that he had dropped, and the thought of what it signaled caused him to chew a bit more viciously.

_John Suh [8:03 p.m]: Hey, DoYo! Are you free tomorrow morning? Would you like to come over for breakfast?_ Doyoung stared at the message, eyes crossing slightly. There wasn’t a chance Johnny was inviting him over for _breakfast_ despite the contents of the text. The ripples ate at his peace as his palms began to sweat, fingers hovering over the slide to unlock. He was debating on pretending he hadn’t seen it, debating on just saying he had been asleep and it was too late, but he knew there would be consequences and Doyoung wasn’t sure he was ready to face the loaded barrel of that gun yet, _metaphorically_ or _literally_. As he went to swipe his phone open, another text dinged through. 

_John Suh [8:05 p.m]: Taeyongie would be very sad if you rejected! He’s been wanting to see you again._ That made Doyoung's stomach sink, a heavy rock finally shattering the water and landing on his abdomen, pinning him to the bottom. Taeyong was asking about him directly. Whatever had been planned for tomorrow morning wasn’t a request and it certainly wasn’t optional, that much had become clear. Doyoung’s fingers shook when he slid open his phone, typing his response quickly, not surprised when the delivered turned to read almost instantly. 

_Of course, I’d love to be there! Your place again? What time? [Read 8:06 p.m]_

_John Suh [8:07 p.m]: That’s great to hear. Be over to my place by 7 and I’ll be sure to prepare the coffee._

_Perfect! @.@ [Delivered 8:07]_

Doyoung tucked his phone under his pillow, trying to think of how he was going to explain to his mother that he would, in fact, not be attending church service tomorrow in lieu of inevitably assisting in one of the many things the preacher would rattle on about; assisting in one of the many things his mother would read about, sigh, then demand a familial prayer for those partaking; would be assisting in one of the things he knew was considered unforgivable in the eyes of the Lord he had spent worshiping his whole life. 

Doyoung rolled over, shoving his face in his pillow, groaning long and low. The ripples would only get smaller, he knew, though the reach of the waves was going to rock the shore and he truly wasn’t ready to find his way out yet. 

By the time the sunlight was just barely breaking the horizon, the birds just barely awakening for their songs, Doyoung was already dressing for the day ahead. His skincare was sinking into his skin as he slid the olive green jumper over his white tee shirt, the weather just chilly enough for a sweater to be necessary in the mornings but the day too warm for the thick fabric to stay on. His black jeans framed his legs nicely, the outfit picked haphazardly and entirely blind as he wasn’t entirely sure of the day's events. 

When the first ray of sunshine hit Doyoung’s floor, his room had been long abandoned, bed cold, the man already on his way to his impromptu Sunday plans. 

Doyoung checked his phone nervously, phone showing 6:58 a.m. He wasn’t early, but he wasn’t late and he hoped that it was an acceptable time to arrive. His knuckles rapped gently on the door, one, two, three times and he was certain the house was dead. No sound, no light, no movement came from inside. He might as well have been staring at the wall of a museum, life having existed at one point but no longer. Doyoung was antsy on a good day, impatience chewing on his bones, but nowadays he found himself completely lacking in _all_ forms of patience. 

He glanced at his phone again, 6:59 a.m. 

He was going to be considered late if no one came to the door soon. He swiped his phone open and with shaky fingers, typed a quick message. 

_Hey, Johnny, I’m outside your house and I knocked, but I didn’t hear anything! [Delivered 6:59 a.m]_

Doyoung looked around awkwardly, bouncing on his heels as he tucked his hands into his pockets. The neighborhood Johnny and Taeyong’s house was settled in was nice, spread out with larger yards and neatly painted fences. Doyoung would have never expected what happened in the house behind theirs, never would have expected the type of man that lived inside of this perfect pastel yellow house. 

Then again, he truly wasn’t sure what type of man Taeyong was. 

He supposedly ran an unimaginably large crime ring, fingers dipping into every pot he found, yet he lived in a quaint two story house and baked cookies on the weekend according to Yuta. Everything about this man was confusing and made Doyoung’s head spin. The thought of describing Taeyong felt oddly like describing the taste of water, the idea _there_ but unable to slide from his tongue coherently. 

Doyoung was startled out of his thoughts by the front door swinging open, revealing Johnny standing there looking as though he had just rolled out of bed and Doyoung realized suddenly that he probably _had_. “Sorry,” His voice was rough, sleep riddled, and shot down the back of Doyoung’s spine in a slow drag, “Forgot I said seven. Come in.” 

Doyoung followed wordlessly, mouth suddenly dry as he wandered into the dark house, kicking off his shoes on the mat. Johnny was barefoot, wearing sleep crinkled plaid pajamas slightly askew and far too low on his hips to be appropriate for a Sunday morning with a guest. Worse, though, he was unexpectedly shirtless, revealing the entire expanse of toned muscle, tanned skin, and faint body hair, as his hair sat a mess on his head. 

“Sit, please.” His gesture was vaguely towards the island and Doyoung followed the order obediently like a well trained dog, always eager to please. Johnny had that affect on him, he noticed, where he could tell Doyoung to do anything and Doyoung would, for no reason other than _Johnny said so_. Doyoung could understand why Johnny was Taeyong's second, could understand the reason was far deeper than their marriage. Doyoung knew he wasn't the only one controlled by a mere glance or word. Johnny held the ends to many leashes, clipped the collars all himself, and gave every command to easily receiving pets. 

Johnny went about making coffee as Doyoung tried to avoid staring at the muscles lining the man’s spine and the way they flexed and creased and dipped and moved. Every muscle created a shadow and in the room lit only by the watery autumn morning sun, they were pronounced and entirely too smooth to be real. His motions were sluggish, body slowly waking as he completed his muscle memory tasks, though the molasses thick atmosphere was slowly turning Doyoung’s own body to tired mush. “You’re awfully quiet.” Johnny spoke again, glancing barely over his shoulder at Doyoung in a way that told him he expected a response. 

“Sorry, I just don’t know what to say.” Doyoung felt like his voice was far too loud in the nearly silent house, despite the fact that it had come out breathy and distracted. How sick was it, he thought, to be admiring not only a married man, but a man that less than a week ago tossed a person at his feet for him to kill? Doyoung’s teeth gnawed on his lip once again as his fingers twitched as he thought about emailing his therapist again, setting up another appointment for the first time in years, but instead he clasped them together on the countertop. Some contacts were best left _untouched_. 

“Usually you’re asking one hundred and three questions that you shouldn’t be.” Johnny hummed, “Why don’t you ask some of them? You were on time and I feel like rewarding you.” 

Doyoung’s face and chest filled with heat, the words unexpectedly setting off a reaction in his body, one that filled his chest with embers and dying coal. That was _embarrassing_. Something in him was incredibly _pleased_ to be praised by Johnny and that was an entirely too dangerous train of thought to be heading down. “Well,” Doyoung finally breathed out, hoping speaking would shake his mind from the paths it was wandering, “What do you do for a living?” 

“Me?” Johnny was smiling, Doyoung could hear it in the amusement of his voice, “I’m a lawyer.” 

Doyoung blinked several times, “Wait, really?” 

Johnny laughed, back contracting and several muscles flexing as he did so. Doyoung’s eyes immediately looked to the shelf of plants and mismatched knick-knacks hanging above the counter next to the fridge. The kitchen screamed _Taeyong_ and it made Doyoung vaguely where in the house screamed _Johnny_. “I know, it’s a little ironic. I met Taeyong while I was in my third year of university.” 

Doyoung hummed momentarily before returning his gaze to Johnny. The man was digging through a cupboard, removing four white mugs, body barely unfolding considering the incredible lengths of his limbs. “How long ago was that?” 

Johnny paused for a second as he seemed to be counting the years in his mind, “I was twenty-one in my third year, so I guess nine years?” Doyoung watched the coffee pouring into the mugs, anything to keep his attention off of Johnny’s side profile, the man having adjusted to the countertop perpendicular to Doyoung. He was tall and well-built, Doyoung knew that just from seeing the way fabric clung to his body, but he hadn’t expected the man to be carved from marble, body practically the ideal of Grecian carvers. Johnny’s side profile was something to admire, strong jawline and pouty lips, all curves and sharpness that Doyoung imagine slice like a dagger underneath even the gentlest of fingers. “We have been married for four of them.” 

The ice water trickled down Doyoung’s body in a slow wave from scalp to toe, a reminder that Johnny was married to his new boss that would definitely have no qualms about leaving his body somewhere in the southern deserts for foxes to make meals out of. “And was it always your dream to be a lawyer?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Johnny chuckled and Doyoung’s eyes locked on the way his chest rose and fall and the heat was refusing to vacate his cheeks, permanently staining the skin a petal pink color, “I always wanted to go into a field with a high salary. Little did I know my side business would end up making me far more money.” 

Doyoung wasn’t given a warning when Johnny turned to face him, the entire expanse of his chest and abdomen exposed, including his dark mauve nipples and the fine trailing of hair that ran between his pecs, down the valley of his abs and flared between the apex of his hipbones and disappeared into the low riding pajamas. Doyoung pried his eyes away instantly, landing instead on the same knick-knacks as before, thought they were much blurrier this time, vision not quite as steady. “How do you like your coffee?” Johnny’s voice was light, jesting, and Doyoung _knew_ he wasn’t ignorant to Doyoung’s gaze. Doyoung surely had a lack of self-preservation these days, every situation he sat himself down in one that could ruin the future he had yet to even build. 

“A spoonful of honey and a tiny bit of milk.” Doyoung’s voice was strained as Johnny moved into his field of vision again, heading for the jar of honey on the counter and the fridge. 

Doyoung couldn’t tell if he was rescued or cursed when there was a shuffling down the stairs and Taeyong appeared, dressed in red plaid pajama bottoms and a grey tee shirt large enough to be Johnny’s. His fluffy blonde hair was unbrushed and unkempt, though Doyoung could see the gloss of his skincare from across the room. 

Taeyong was unusually beautiful person, all sharp lines and doe eyes and unrealistically perfect. Looking at Taeyong was a reminder to Doyoung that life existed to be beautiful, to be desired, to be _worshipped_. 

Taeyong rubbed at his eyes when he saw Doyoung, a smile overtaking his face that would drop the moon from the sky. “Hello, what a wonderful present to wake up to.” 

Doyoung had yet to settle the throttling of his heart that Johnny had caused, the problem only increasing at Taeyong’s presence. The few times he had been with the pair had been either strictly professional or the attenion able to be withdrawn from Doyoung. Now, it seemed, he was the center of their focus in a way he felt almost inappropriate. “Good morning,” He managed to wheeze out, chest heavy with the weight of Taeyong's gaze and breath stolen long ago. 

Johnny laughed lightly, all delicate and warm, setting his mug down in front of him. When Johnny laughed like that, Doyoung could almost forget the entire reason he knew him, could almost forget everything he knew about the situation he was in. That was almost, though, and the reminder sent another bolt of tremors through him, his entire body riddled with so many emotions it wasn't sure which was the _strongest_. “I forgot I told him seven. I figured he would be a bit later than that, but I also shouldn’t have expected that from someone as _punctual_ as Doyoung.” 

“Well, it’s still a lovely thing to come down to. I stopped by Yuta’s room and he’s getting ready. Should be down in a few.” Taeyong’s voice was scratchy from sleep in a way that made his voice deeper than it was and once again Doyoung felt it settle nervously at the nape of his neck, shushing his nerves. 

“Uh, thanks?” He wasn’t sure how to respond, watching as the man came to sit at the island with him, footsteps soft against the hardwood. 

Doyoung turned forward again, regaining his space, hands clasping his coffee mug as though that would tether him to the earth. The problem with facing forward again, Doyoung realized too late, was watching Johnny glide through the kitchen, humming softly to himself, preparing the remaining coffees without asking. Doyoung assumed he knew what the others would want considering they’d lived together for long enough. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Taeyong mumbled, closer than Doyoung realized, breath gently disturbing his hair and brushing his cheeks so sweetly. 

He jerked in his seat, leaning backwards the slightest bit to create the illusion of space. At this proximity, Doyoung could make out the jagged butterfly shaped scar by his eye, could see the way his eyelashes dipped, the slight shade of brown in his irises barely distinguishable from his pupil. “Who?” 

Taeyong looked at him with a strange expression, almost confused, his words sounding more like a question than anything, “Johnny?” 

Doyoung wasn’t sure what Taeyong wanted from him, wasn’t sure how to respond in this situation. He glanced to Johnny who was still making the coffees, though the grin on his lips was visible even from the side. Johnny _was_ beautiful, incredibly so, but how could those words drip into the man's husbands ears without it sounding like Doyoung was overstepping. When Doyoung met Taeyong’s eyes again, he figured honesty was worth more than gold and the words he could speak weren't a direct answer, but something satisfactory, “You definitely found someone who matches your appearance perfectly.” 

Taeyong smiled, though it was prickly and tickled at Doyoung's skin in a strange way, much like the smile of a cat that caught a mouse, “You’re such a flattering man. Tell me, Doyoung, do you truly find him attractive?” 

Doyoung was at a loss for words, mouth dry as he clicked his teeth a few times. There was sand in his throat, preventing his speech, until movement behind Taeyong caught his attention and a fully dressed Yuta appeared, completely in black, form fitting clothing and silver chains bumping his accentuated thighs matching the rings and necklaces adorning his body. “Yuta!” Doyoung said far too loudly, startling the three. “Oh, sorry, sorry.” 

Yuta’s startled expression melted slightly, “Hey, Doyoung, what are you doing here so early?” 

Doyoung shrugged, still avoiding looking at both Taeyong and Johnny, “I don’t really know.” 

Yuta accepted that answer without a question and slid into the seat next to him, nodding to both the other men quietly. Taeyong leaned close again, whispering against Doyoung’s ear and making him squeak, “Is Yuta your type?” 

“Stop that,” Doyoung said, “I don’t sleep with married men.” 

“Yuta’s not married,” Taeyong supplied casually, causing Yuta to pique. 

“I’m not,” Yuta shrugged, “What are you up to?” 

Taeyong smiled again, wide and innocent, attention turning to his husband when he passed him his cup of light coffee. He skimmed over Yuta's comment in favor of teasing the already flustered man further, “So, the only reason you wouldn’t sleep with me is because I’m married?” 

Doyoung rolled his eyes, the question lingering in the air momentarily. He wondered how far this man was willing to push him before his husband kicked his ass for flirting with his spouse. “Yes,” He stressed, “You both are married and to each other at that. That should be reason enough. Why are we discussing this at the breakfast table, anyways? Is this what I was called over for?” 

Doyoung was ignored as Yuta sang beside him, “Being married has never stopped them before.” 

“Johnny’s my husband, he always comes home to me. I’m the one he’s in love with. I’m the one he will be spending the rest of his life with. Why should I mind if he sleeps with another person? He’ll tell me all about it later, undoubtedly. I like listening to the stories. It’s the same way with him. It’s wonderful what trust can earn you in a relationship.” 

Doyoung was baffled, mind collapsing inwards on itself. He wasn’t wrapping himself around the concept that they were having this discussion at a quarter past seven in the morning, wasn’t fully able to understand the moment he found himself in. Reality slipped through his fingertips like water, but Johnny was absolutely radiating pride, beaming as he finished making his and Yuta’s coffees the same way. “It’s true, I trust my husband without fault.” 

“I don’t think this is a conversation we should be having.” Doyoung’s tongue clung to the roof of his mouth and he sipped his coffee, mind blank as he stared at the marble counter and created shapes in his mind to distract himself. 

“You guys broke him, great.” Yuta grumbled, clinking his rings against the mug gently, chiming like a bell bringing Doyoung out of a trance. “Stop harassing him, he’s sensitive.” 

Taeyong snorted, sipping his coffee again, “It’s good to break them early on, saves us trouble later.” 

Johnny leaned over the counter, flicking Taeyong’s nose gently, “Be nice. Quit playing with your food.” 

Doyoung simply took a few deeper gulps of his coffee, trying not to choke when Johnny’s honeyed eyes landed on him. His light colored bangs had fallen slightly in his eyes and Doyoung wanted to swipe them back, though he kept his fingers wrapped tightly around his mug. “Taeyong doesn’t mean much by it. He’s just not very shy.” 

Doyoung could only shrug, his body being melted into a pile of wet sugar at the way Johnny stared at him. When it became obvious he was requiring a verbal response to continue, Doyoung pried the gag from his throat and spoke, “It’s fine.” 

Johnny’s smile was genuine again, “Alright. I’ll make breakfast then. Everyone else should be over soon and we can finally get started on our day.” 

Doyoung wasn’t sure he wanted to see what the day held after the morning they had had. 

Doyoung didn’t know what to expect when Johnny had said _others_. Through the backdoor, a group of people had entered quietly, but not unexpectedly, welcomed intruders. Johnny and Taeyong had long since disappeared to get ready, leaving Yuta to do introductions that Doyoung hadn't expected considering the other times he had met people Yuta had barely even breathed their names. Yuta had explained that it was required he knew the people he was working with today, that a full knowledge of who they were was going to be vital for their tasks. Doyoung didn’t have a chance to say that knowing their names was not equivalent to knowing them, but swallowed his words at the tone Yuta had used. 

The first he met was a man named Ten, pretty and slightly shorter than Yuta, with a curved nose and hooded eyes, freckles occasionally dotting his honey toned skin. His black bangs clung to his forehead, just above his eyebrows and round glasses, outfit simple jeans and leather jacket and white shirt. Ten had a voice as pretty as his face and Doyoung could tell the man fully understood his affect on people, the smile he gave coy. There was something _timeless_ about the man, like he hadn't aged in three centuries, and the way he carried himself with such a profound confidence and poised posture only aided in the illusion he created. Ten had been nicknamed _Kitty_ , an incredible juxtaposition from the aura the man carried. 

The next to be introduced was Sicheng, tall and lean and sophisticated in a light grey turtleneck and dark grey slacks, with amber eyes and flat brown hair, he looked simple yet stunning and Doyoung was instantly confused by him. If Ten had felt timeless, Sicheng felt _ancient_ , something incredibly knowledgeable and unusually intimidating about him. When his pouty lips parted, a voice deep and thick spoke from the back of his throat and offered the nickname _WinWin_. 

Donghyuck, asked to be casually referred to as Haechan because Donghyuck was what he was called when he was in trouble, was the second to last to be introduced. His face was round, innocent and sweet, with skin that was graced by the sun and pretty moles decorating him. His hair was curly and a layered silver-grey and practically made the tone of his skin glow with the contrast, along with the white sweatshirt he wore. Haechan was full of energy, full of life, so bright it almost stung to look at him; he felt like youth and carried himself with such a young swagger that Doyoung almost wanted to ask then and there why he had ended up where he had. It wasn't his business, though, and he held his tongue. His voice came from high in his nose, bubbly and bouncy as he was, practically singing the name _Fullsun_. 

Finally, was the more surprising member of the small clique; Jaemin had bubblegum pink hair and a broad smile that never seemed to leave his lips. There was such a vibrancy surrounding this boyish man, something that felt like many colors were shoved into one soul; he seemed to be the most vibrant thing in the room, draining the saturation from everything else. He was tall and lanky and comfortable looking in a black turtleneck and light wash jeans. His voice fell somewhere between nasally and deep, similar to Taeyong’s but younger, almost cooing the nickname _NaNa_ to Doyoung. 

By the time introductions had ended, Johnny and Taeyong had arrived in the kitchen again. Taeyong was dressed in a delicate silk shirt underneath a black velvet blazer with matching dress pants, heeled boots adding inches to his height that clicked when he walked in a way that alerted everyone of his arrival. Johnny wore a baggy faded black denim jacket over baggy blue jeans and white tee shirt, outfit far more casual than Taeyong’s. The disconnect between the two’s style was unnerving in a way, something strange about the mix, though Doyoung couldn't pinpoint exactly _why_ it felt so awkward. Possibly because he still had no context of the day and their outfits gave no incline as to what they were going to do. 

Johnny lugged a heavy looking trunk onto the newly cleaned counter, making no face or sound as he did so. “Doyoung, I have a present for you.” Doyoung stared at the case large enough to fit a small body. He wasn’t sure he wanted whatever present Johnny would pull from the case, but he nodded anyways. Johnny clicked the latches and opened the trunk, revealing masses of multi-colored and multi-textured fabric, the one thing Doyoung hadn’t expected to be inside. 

On top, there was a black mass, one that Johnny lifted. “For you,” He smiled softly and Doyoung took the heavy fabric. He unfolded it in his hands; there was a thin black bomber jacket wrapped around what appeared to be a fabric mask. The face of the mask was covered in shards of iridescent glass, rounded slightly on the edges so not to be sharp. It was simple, but sleek, and suited Doyoung in a way he hadn’t expected. 

“Thank you,” Doyoung said honestly, voice wispy, “But what is this for?” 

“Our jobs.” Yuta said simply, grabbing his own clump. Yuta slid the matching bomber jacket on, mask in hand. Yuta’s mask was cream colored with filigree styled gold lines and small sequins decorating it. Initially, Doyoung thought the mask to be unfitting of his personality, though the longer the thought, the more he could _see_ it. 

Doyoung simply watched the others grabbed their own jackets and masks from the seemingly endless trunk, each having an individual bundle that they grabbed on autopilot. Ten’s mask was black with heavy gold and silver brocade designs, the eyeholes slightly slanted and the shape of the brocade giving an oddly catlike expression and Doyoung knew without even knowing the man that _that_ was designed by him, for him. Jaemin’s mask was stark white, iridescent beads decorating the fabric in haphazard patterns, crystals and small gems littering the spaces between. Sicheng’s was interesting, multicolored tinsel draping from the fabric while multicolored gems sparkled through the gaps when the tinsel swung. Haechan’s mask was unnerving in a strange way; a heavy looking gas mask covered in white lace and silk, gold decorating the edges and small pearls creating an upholstered appearance. Doyoung wondered if that fit Donghyuck's personality, wondered if the ray of glowing sun truly burned as hot as it looked. 

Johnny’s was black with multicolored diamonds completely covering the fabric and, while it suited him, Doyoung wondered if he would be able to breathe from underneath it. 

Taeyong’s mask was the final one, though his was not fabric and was not in the trunk; he had carried his own case down and opened it while the others had gotten theirs. This mask was _different_. His was a solid material, made with a strap that clipped and was shaped like a jesters face with a smile far too wide for eyes so pained. The entire surface was covered in red and white diamonds that glinted in the light, with red and white stitching crossing over the grinning mouth and gaping eyes. His mask was intimidating, threatening in a way Doyoung couldn’t explain. The difference between the faceless, featureless masks everyone else wore to the amused face Taeyong would clip on was startling, the leader identifiable even when faceless. 

“It’s time to get going,” Johnny was staring at his phone, tapping a few buttons as he spoke absentmindedly, “If we leave now we will be there in twenty minutes. The morning crew will just be arriving, several will be on break. The night crew cops should be having their breakfast at the diner and the morning crew should be working on clearing out the Saturday night drunks. Perfect window.” 

Doyoung still didn’t know perfect for what, but there the ghost was again, breathing down his neck. Perhaps he should have listened to his initial thoughts last night and pretended to have not seen Johnny's texts. He hadn't, though, and instead he was forced to live through this morning with a finger-wringing uncertainty. 

It seemed every time Doyoung was shoved into the black cadillac, bad things always followed. As they passed by Doyoung's church he couldn't help but stare at the sandstone walls and needle sharp steeple, though he did not crane his head around to stare, allowing it to slip by. This morning, his mother would be attending alone. Doyoung didn't look out the window after that. 

Somewhere along the trip, Ten had quickly double checked with Doyoung, turning around almost fully in his seat to settle the man with an unreadable stare, “You were brought on as an accountant, right? You’re a fast counter, good at math, strong memory, correct?” 

“I mean, yeah, I think I am-” 

“No,” Yuta had snapped from beside him, startling him slightly, “No _I think_ bullshit. Are you or are you not?” 

The tone Yuta used was surprising and once again Doyoung could see the double edged sword sitting next to him. This time, Doyoung spoke with a firmness, a confidence he hoped he could back up with action, “Yes, yes I am good at math and counting.” 

Ten had nodded, turning around in his seat again, righting himself. “You better do it well under pressure.” 

Doyoung hadn’t known what he was supposed to say, but the moment passed as they pulled into an alley and the driver jumped out quickly replacing the license plates. 

“Masks.” Yuta's tone was absolute. Doyoung scrambled to get the mask over his head, adjusting it just enough so when Minho, the driver, slid back in, he could watch the SUV continue out of the alleyway. 

When Yuta spoke, his voice was muffled, dampened by his cover, “When we get there Minhyung approximated six minutes for us to be in and out and still have time to evade the cops. Any longer than that and we risk having them on our tail. I’ll set a timer for seven minutes now. Rose is at the farthest cash register today, go to him last, he won’t trigger the silent alarm but the others will, make sure they are keeping their hands up. Tokki, you better be able to keep tabs on the numbers in your head because you’re gathering the combinations.” 

Yuta clicked the timer on his phone and within thirty seconds the car stopped. “Out and do it fast. Minimize casualties. Stay on target, get distracted and I might kill you and leave you here.” With his final word, Yuta swung his door open and hopped around the car, Ten and Jaemin following suit. 

Doyoung took a breath and flung his door open, stepping into the world for the first time as the official _Tokki_. Something felt unusually ceremonious about this moment, like he was christening his name. Doyoung hadn’t been given a weapon, though he’d been given a set of black latex gloves. When Doyoung looked up he realized they were at a branch of one of Neo City's banks. Naturally, he thought, a heist. This building however wasn’t a main branch, rather a building where the wealthy stored assets they felt needed extra protection. The curiosity was gnawing at Doyoung as to what exactly they were there to steal, considering money wasn't even _transacted_ here. 

Yuta was the first to push the bank doors open, followed quickly by Ten who lifted his semi-automatic weapon. It took the tellers less than a breath to understand the situation, hands dropping their tasks. There hadn’t been many customers at the moment they arrived, a single man and a couple, the three looking stunned as they fell against the counter. 

“Down,” Was Ten’s only command, voice flatter, deeper than Doyoung recalled. The people understood and kneeled, 

Jaemin moving in quickly to take perch at the farthest end of the room, brandishing his own rather large gun. There was a second where Doyoung recalled the thought of the security guard, but that was soothed when a distracted thumping noise rolled down the stairs. Doyoung watched in mild horror as the body of the guards on duty fell in a clump at the base of the stairs, Sicheng sauntering down the stairs casually, followed closely by Haechan. They had traveled separately, arriving slightly before them, though Doyoung wondered where Johnny and Taeyong had disappeared to. 

“Always with the dramatics, WinWin.” Ten teased, though his eyes had yet to be removed from the tellers. 

“I like a good show.” Was all Sicheng responded with, voice laced with poisonous barbs. 

"Tokki," Yuta said, jerking his head towards the counter, "Get over here." 

Doyoung made his way to the counter quickly, looking at the woman with the plain brown hair and the name tag that read _Branch Manager: Jessica K._

"Combinations to vault three, or I leave this place a morgue." Yuta's voice was flat, no tone to hint that he was bluffing and Doyoung could see it happening- could see Yuta allowing every last person in this room to die. Doyoung could see the group leaving empty handed and empty chambered and the thought made his skin crawl. 

"Please," Doyoung said softly, "Just let us have the combinations." 

Through tears, the woman dropped a key onto the counter and stuttered, "30-12-6-0-0-6.” 

"Move," Yuta snatched the key up and turned on his toes, "WinWin with me and Tokki, now." 

Yuta's walk was intimidating and seeing him doing so in such a situation in the outfit he had chosen for the day made Doyoung understand once again why this gang had become so successful. 

Doyoung wasn't sure how Yuta knew the way through the bank, wasn't sure how he had known to kick in the _Staff Only_ door and take two lefts and a right, following the squared staircase down a level. The entire time he had continually repeated the code to himself, memorizing it, and he hoped Yuta would not leave him down here as there was no way he would find his way back out. On the lower level there were five heavy rectangular metal doors, each locked with a keypad and a keyhole. 

"Type them in, Tokki. We're down to three minutes." Yuta voice wasn't urgent, wasn't stress inducing, rather informative and encouraging. This was Doyoung's first job and there was a part of him the craved the _praise_ of doing it right. 

Doyoung moved quickly, fingers steadier than he thought, typing the code she had given. It flashed green for a second then beeped. Doyoung cursed and Yuta's hand landed on his shoulder, "What the fuck is going on, Tokki? Did you forget the code?" 

"No," Doyoung said adamantly, "No, I remembered it. Shit, I think she gave us a fake code to stall. Someone's tripped the alarm." 

A string of curses in an unfamiliar language left Yuta's pretty lips as they were muffled by the mask. "We have less than a minute. This is just fucking ridiculous." 

The three made their way up the stairs and just before they made it through the maze, Yuta's timer went off. There was another round of curses as Yuta shoved the door open unnecessarily roughly. There were gaping stares as they returned empty handed and Yuta made his way over to the manager, “Did you think I was fucking joking?” She gasped deeply, crying heavily. Yuta pulled a familiar silver .22 from the harness on his pants aiming it directly at the clerk next to her. Before there was a word of defiance Yuta shot him in the chest. “WinWin, bring her downstairs with us. She’s going to type the codes in this time.” 

“But we’re out of time-” Doyoung began blinking roughly against the sweat beading on his forehead, “We should get out.” 

“A rule for dealing with the unpredictable is always having a backup plan. Take a peak out the window, Tokki.” Yuta’s voice was even again, toneless and factual and Doyoung found himself following the instructions. He peered around the shut blinds, seeing smoke unfurling from the tall building down the street. 

“A fire?” Doyoung asked, though a response was not expected. 

“Yes, pretty Tokki, sometimes daddy has to come in and clean up the messes you all make.” The voice was unexpected and clearer than all the others and Doyoung wanted to find it slightly cringey that he referred to himself as _daddy_ , wanted to have the brain capacity to form _that_ thought, but instead he just looked up to where Sicheng and Haechan had entered. Standing on the staircase were two chess players, admiring the game they had set up and the way their pieces were aligned. Taeyong looked far too expensive to be in this building despite the fact that Doyoung _knew_ the accumulation of wealth distributed through this building could buy a least a thousand and one of his outfits. It wasn’t the outfit that was expensive, though, it was _Taeyong_ , in his grinning, soulless mask. Johnny stood next to him, a funhouse shadow, leering over the room behind rainbow colored gems. “I bought you time. Better use it quickly, the clock has already started.” 

With his words, they were set into action again, Sicheng had locked the woman with his arms in a strange way that Doyoung wasn’t able to fully comprehend in their current situation, shoving past the other petrified bankers. Yuta’s walk was more than intimidating now, it was thoroughly _pissed_ , making Doyoung shy a little away from him. 

By the time they made it back to the vaults, Yuta had steeped on his anger enough to whirl around on the woman. “Enter the code and you’ll make it out of here alive. Refuse and I kill you and leave you here to rot, forgotten in less than a week, and then pick a few more out of the crowd as souvenir kills. Take your pick.” 

Sicheng dropped her in front of the door, kneeling in business casual at the precipice of an offer she would be suicidal to refuse. She was praying under her breath as she typed on the keypad. When it flashed green several times and then stayed a steady green, Yuta shoved the key in the lock and pried it open. “WinWin, you know the objective. Tokki, grab from whichever cubby you want.” 

When the two shuffled into the room of locked cases, Doyoung almost asked what they were going to do when he withdrew two keys. “Universal.” He said simply and moved onto reading the cubby numbers. Doyoung picked a cubby, _105_ and opened it. Inside was several small jewelry boxes that he grabbed and shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hoarding the riches like a dragon thieving in the day. 

Doyoung nearly fell over at the sound of a gunshot, Yuta slipping into the vault. Sicheng did not seem surprised, collecting from his locker. “I thought we were letting her go?” 

“There was never even a chance.” Sicheng was the one to respond as he opened another cubby. 

By the time they were back in the cadillac and parked in an alley several blocks from the bank, stripping their masks and licenses plates, Doyoung felt his whole body trembling. He wasn’t sure what he was going through, but it felt like his bones had been crushed into a fine gelatin and his brain was no longer a viable organ. 

“Congratulations, Tokki,” Yuta said from beside him, voice heavy in his ear and breath brushing his skin warmly, “You just completed your first job and you did wonderfully.” 

Doyoung’s skin was warm again, but he wasn’t sure if it was from Yuta’s breath or the activities of the day. 

“Thank you,” Doyoung breathed, unsure how to respond to such a statement. It wasn’t the first crime he committed, not by the distance he could throw a pebble, but something about this time felt oddly _real_. The man in the woods hadn’t felt like it had happened, never truly feeling like anything more than a fever dream. This, however, invoked a memory in his knuckles, a sensation he had repressed for so many years and it made him gnaw on the inside of his lip again. 

“Tonight, you’re celebrating with me.” Doyoung had no inclination as to what celebration with Yuta looked like, but he met his eyes for the first time. He was wearing his grey contacts, eyes unnatural and piercing. This time, as they passed Doyoung’s church, he didn’t notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so, first taste of /actual/ action, both for the hint of JohnDoTae and crime lmao
> 
> i hope you enjoyed and hope to see you next chapter! stay safe, stay healthy! <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/MidnightSuhn)  
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/MidnightPasses?t=156572385)


	4. Immolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immolation: To be killed by fire as an act of sacrifice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a friendly reminder that the E rating isn't just for the violence, rather the slightly daddy kink up ahead.
> 
> also, i missed the beginning of Doyoung's last twt menpa bc i was writing this lmfao

Doyoung hadn’t been sure what to expect from Yuta’s idea of _celebration_ , the word lingering not quite as a threat but also not as an invitation either. It wasn’t daunting in the sense of fear, though there was a certain lack of _uncertainty_ that made Doyoung’s heart stutter. He considered the word carefully, considered every probability of what the activity would entail. There had been many theories he had considered during his time getting ready, dressing and sorting himself, passing through them like flashcards in his mind, some ideas far more plausible than others.

Getting black out drunk? Very possible.

Drugs? Likely. 

Sex? Plausible.

Baking a cake? Unlikely, but Doyoung liked the potential. 

Movie night? Wishful thinking.

None of the ideas that circled Doyoung’s mind fit the shadowed silhouette that Yuta had left in his mind with such a vague statement. None of them suited the way he figured the man would _celebrate_ , though there was a distinct dread that came with the unknown. The one thing Doyoung hadn’t expected, hadn’t hypothesised and eliminated, was the text he received from Yuta with an address to meet him at by 8:30 and a sweet smiley face.

Another robbery? Doyoung prayed not.

When Doyoung arrived at the address, though, it was a _bar_ , one highly unlikely to be victim to any crime other than vandalism or drunken fights.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it also wasn’t anything trashy. A few neon signs lit up the black paned windows, flickering with the imaginary wind, white lights surrounding a peaceful sign proclaiming it to be _Robin’s Sports Bar_. The parking lot was crowded but not full, decent for a Sunday night and a group of smokers stood outside, chattering in the night like roosting birds settling for sleep. Doyoung glanced to the navy button down he wore, small white dots littering the dark fabric, tucked into black dress pants and a grey cardigan hanging off his shoulders, and he felt suddenly _too_ dressed to walk into such a place. Still, it was 8:37 and Doyoung didn’t have time to change, late as is. 

The handles to the heavy wooden doors were brass birds, details faded with age and use and thousands of hands and Doyoung could imagine in their early days they were quite beautiful. Inside the bar was oddly _normal_. There were tall round tables lining most the walls, shorter square tables all in the center, a sleek wooden bar with shelves of liquor and a mirrored back, darts and pool and arcade games nestled in a dark alcove. It all felt far too normal for him to be meeting up with a gang member in, far too normal to be celebrating _crime_ in. 

Average people having average Sunday nights in an average bar. 

Doyoung thought in passing that that might be the appeal to Yuta- the unnerving normalcy of this place. Perhaps he often felt the way Doyoung did, like he was being tethered to his _normal_ life by nothing but a single frayed rope. Perhaps he often felt the incessant nagging loneliness that Doyoung had started to acknowledge. Perhaps he often craved the simple taste of a _normal_ night, with _normal_ people. Perhaps that was why this average bar was considered _celebration_ , when for most it was considered _boring_.

Doyoung found Yuta chatting with a group of people, none of which he recognized, though there was a mix between men and women of all ages and appearances. Yuta was laughing, melding with the normalcy easily, sipping a beer and joking with people. He was effortless at blending in. Doyoung had never had that ability; he had always been nervous, always been too stiff, always the one to ask _should you really be doing that_. Doyoung hadn’t ever felt _young_. He’d always been able to be spotted in a crowd, though not in any way he ever felt positively about. 

When Yuta noticed him, his smile grew wider, waving him over. Doyoung didn’t _want_ to head over to the small crowd Yuta was mingling with, but there wasn’t another option; Yuta had already seen him and he imagined not celebrating with him would be rather rude. 

“Doyoung!” Yuta was warm, his personality oddly comforting even with Doyoung’s nerves. Standing next to him, Doyoung felt oddly safe in a way he hadn’t expected. Yuta, despite everything, felt like a secluded ray of sunshine peering through the forest canopy and warming a specific spot of grass that Doyoung now stood on. “Well, guys, my friend has arrived and I’d like to chat longer, but I’ve been booked.” 

The tallest man in the group, handsome in a very _pretty_ way, sighed, “You’re always being stolen away. Catch up with _me_ sometime, Yuta.” 

“I can go, you guys should hang out.” Doyoung’s response was almost mechanical, a built in reflex. His self-exclusion was an innate response, built from years of allowing himself to be a bystander in events he had been requested at. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yuta’s response was instant, almost startling Doyoung, “Yuto and I work together, I see him practically every day. He’s just being dramatic.” 

Yuto’s pout was cute, Doyoung could admit, “But you never take _me_ drinking. Sometimes I want you to buy me a round, y’know?” 

“Go home, you work the opening shift tomorrow.” Yuta’s response sounded snarky, but the fondness on his face left nothing secret. “I’ll catch you guys later.” With that, he departed, herding Doyoung to a booth in a part of the bar that was less full. 

“Your friends seem nice.” Doyoung wasn’t sure what else to say, but it seemed to be the right thing as Yuta’s expression was warm and open. 

“Yeah, they’re great. I know them through work, mostly.” Yuta took another sip from his beer bottle, looking effortlessly handsome. His leather jacket was discarded on the bench next to him, his Bon Jovi tee shirt ratty and old but stylish and comfortable looking. His hair was sleek and brushed into a ponytail, bangs hanging against his cheek, dark against his olive skin and Doyoung could only imagine being _effortlessly handsome_ in the way Yuta was. Yuta was such a strange man; his smile was comforting and healing and lit up the space around him, but his glower was threatening, burning, _weakening_. His fingers played with the napkins on the table so gently he made no creases, though Doyoung knew those fingers snuffed lives out for fun. Yuta felt like someone who could build and break and coddle and beat and Doyoung was still figuring out where the lines in his personality were drawn. 

“What do you do?” Doyoung finally asked, eyeing the piercings decorating the entirety of his ear, “In your daily life, I mean.” 

Yuta’s expression wasn’t closed off, but it wasn’t _open_ either. Doyoung had a hard time reading him, similar to a book in Japanese; the characters familiar to him, but _just_ out of his understanding. “I do a lot of things.” 

“Alright, Captain Conversation.” Doyoung snorted, leaning back in his seat, “Keep your secrets then.” 

Yuta caught Doyoung off-guard by laughing. Doyoung couldn’t recall ever hearing Yuta laugh like that, the sound genuine and animated and sent Doyoung’s heart tripping over itself. He could imagine if he and Yuta had met under different circumstances that he would quite like the man, possibly even find himself enamoured with him. The problem was, though, they didn’t meet under other circumstances and Doyoung _did_ know what Yuta did as a side business and he _did_ watch Yuta’s heart-thumping smile turn heart-wrenching. Something about that saddened Doyoung in a way he hadn’t expected, in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. He felt like he missed a Yuta he didn’t know, one that wasn’t stuck in the line he was in, one that he might’ve been able to fall in love with. 

“I like to keep my professional and my business lives separate,” His voice was light, his expression fond in a way different than what he had shown Yuto and it made Doyoung’s heart stutter again. “However, it’s something so normal and boring that you probably wouldn’t believe me.” 

“Try me.” Doyoung’s voice was firm but Yuta was impervious. When Doyoung decided that didn’t work, he widened his eyes and pouted slightly, voice whiney, “You know my job though.”

Yuta held fast and Doyoung was thinking of other ways of manipulation before Yuta cursed and took another swig of beer. Doyoung watched his throat contract as he swallowed, admiring the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Yuta’s jaw clenched afterwards, before he spoke, voice jesting despite the accusations, “If you weren’t so fucking _cute_ , you’d never get anywhere. Fine, bare minimum only, though and I mean it! I’m a manager at a grocery store.”

Doyoung paused, blinking several times. The image of Yuta, punk rock Yuta, Yuta with the tattoos, Yuta with the piercings, Yuta with the thirst for blood and a wicked tongue, wearing khakis and a polo with a name tag appeared in his mind. The image was so startling it allowed a giggle to slip past his lips, teeth exposed in a growing smile, “You’re right,” Doyoung said finally, “I really can’t imagine that.” 

Yuta was silent for a second, gaze locked on Doyoung with an expression so flat and blank he might as well have been a mannequin, and Doyoung was almost convinced he had hurt his feelings or offended him before he spoke, “You have a nice smile, Doyoung. You should do it more.” The heat that filled Doyoung’s face made him want to curl up under the table, hide in a den and hibernate until he no longer felt himself coil with such delicate words. Yuta’s tone had been so sincere and Doyoung couldn’t think of a time where he’d received a compliment with such weight. Yuta slid out of the booth before Doyoung could respond, “I’m grabbing another beer. You want anything?” 

“A beer, please.” Doyoung’s voice was slightly croaky, surprise still eating away at his self, but if Yuta noticed he said nothing.

The night went smoothly after that. The two drank together, joked, laughed, and overall had the most relaxing evening Doyoung had never expected. Doyoung couldn’t remember having a night as nice as tonight even with his university friends. Yuta was a flirt by nature, Doyoung learned, one that would slide in subtle words that made Doyoung’s knuckles weak and blood far too thick. Doyoung wasn’t able to keep up and he learned so when Yuta had ordered them some sliders, stating the nights tab was on him, and Doyoung made the mistake of being too bold. 

“I’m glad you’re buying because I’m the wine and dine type.” Doyoung hadn’t been sure _why_ the words slipped past his lips, but he wanted to try Yuta’s confidence on like a borrowed coat. Doyoung learned quickly that the coat didn’t fit anyone but Yuta, the fabric perfectly tailored to him like a second skin.

“Hm, could’ve told me sooner. I’ve been wondering how pretty you look a little fucked out.” Yuta’s tone had been conversational but it made Doyoung choke on his beer, coughing violently while Yuta had laughed. After that they’d moved onto playing pool, Yuta practically playing solo due to Doyoung’s inability to understand the angles of the game. The bar was emptying now, most people having to work in the mornings, last call nearing closer and closer as the night drew shorter and shorter. Doyoung found himself not wanting the night to end. 

When Doyoung took a break from playing pool he encouraged Yuta to accept a random man's offer for a game, content to just watch as they played. The man was tall, taller than Yuta and just barely Doyoung, but definitely still smaller than Johnny. This man was classically handsome, in a Disney prince sort of way, and _broad_ , muscles outlined in a tight black tee shirt and jeans that left little to the imagination. Doyoung was _definitely_ content watching the two as they took turns bending and flexing and sauntering and flaunting. There was a strange tension, one that made Doyoung nervous and far too warm and he hated that his cheeks were stained with a blush he couldn’t erase though he blamed the beer. 

The man seemed to be just as good of a player as Yuta and Doyoung could tell it was frustrating Yuta. There was set tightness in his shoulders that Doyoung could visibly _see_ , the way he carried himself growing stiffer, the strings of his back drawing tighter and tighter- until they finally snapped.

“You’re fuckin’ playing me.” Yuta drawled, jaw twitching as he squared his body to the man. 

“No, I’m playing pool.” The mans voice was _deep_ , a smooth baritone laced in melted chocolate and his expression amused. He looked as though Yuta’s explosion was expected, as though this was not a surprise nor an accident.

Doyoung’s brain was slightly distorted from the uncounted number of beers he had drank and angry words were exchanged between dagger sharp tongues faster than he could manage to keep up with. There was a crack and Doyoung was instantly sobered as Yuta landed a solid punch to the man’s jaw, knocking him into the table. Doyoung shot up from his seat, the bartender shouting as he ran from behind the bar. It was too late though, Yuta and the stranger had become entangled and Doyoung was almost scared to jump in to unravel the mass of knots. 

“Yuta!” He tried, his brain filtering through whatever responses he could think in his haze, tongue heavy and brain lazy despite the intense beating of his heart, “Stop!” 

The bartender managed to wrap himself around the other man and Doyoung took that as his time to drag Yuta back as well, arms secured around his thin waist. When they were no longer within reach of each other, Yuta began shouting, voice hoarse and tone biting, “Get back over here, I’ll bust your fucking jaw.”

“You could _never_ ,” The man responded, laughing cynically, no fear laced through his words as it would have Doyoung’s. Doyoung supposed to pick a fight with Yuta, one must be completely _fearless_ and it seemed as though this man was steel boned.

“Dammit, why do you two always insist on starting fights in my bar!” The bartender shouted, sliding in front of him and shoving him back, “It’s practically a weekly occurrence, I’m begging you two to get a hobby!” 

Yuta broke out of Doyoung’s grasp and pulled out his wallet, before dropping an indiscernible amount of cash on the table. “I’ll see you next week, Robin,” Yuta said, grabbing Doyoung’s wrist and dragging him from the bar. 

“What was that? _Who_ was that?” Doyoung was babbling again, stuttering slightly as his feet mimicked his voice. His mind was still processing what happened, still stuck back to the first moment of yelling, and his thought process only got stickier when he was shoved against the exterior of the bar, Yuta’s mouth closing wetly on his. 

Doyoung had always been the odd one out in his age group. Everyone else seemed to fit into a niche, seemed to slide into a crowd and look like they belonged. Doyoung, however, had always felt like there was _something_ different that he wasn’t able to place, an invisible sign pointing him out in a crowd labelled something like _strange_. He was mundane, sure, but he always bled an air of being older than he was, something that had his classmates avoiding him. During university, that had gotten slightly less noticeable, though the divide between _him_ and _them_ still clear at his rejection of party invitations and late night binge drinking in trade of staying in and studying. One time Doyoung’s university friends had joked that he was the _I’m not like other girls_ meme, but Doyoung had just laughed and shrugged it off. He liked drinking and he liked socializing, but he was serious about his future and enjoyed smaller groups. 

Along with all the traits that labelled Doyoung as the odd one out, came the fact that Doyoung didn’t enjoy sleeping around like fellow students. 

It wasn’t a problem and they never mocked him for it, the university students much too old for childish bullying on simple things like that. None of them had pressured him into the activities they enjoyed that he didn’t. That, though, didn’t make Doyoung feel any less of an outcast when they spoke about the parties and the nights and the sexual conquests they’d had that Doyoung had _not_ had.

Doyoung wasn’t a _virgin_ , but he could count the sexual expeditions he’d had on both hands and he could count his partners on one. 

This, however, was going to be a completely new and different experience, Doyoung knew. Doyoung could tell that regardless of how much experience he had, fucking Yuta was going to be _overhwelming_ and _humbling_. Something about the man said he knew how to knock even the most experienced partner down to a stuttering virgin and Doyoung was _right_.

Yuta had convinced Doyoung to ride home with him, leaving his car in the parking lot despite his concerns- with Yuta’s tongue tracing light circles against the column of his throat and voice heavy in his ear, Doyoung was positive he would have agreed to _sell_ his car in that moment. The entire car ride back to the house was a blur of Yuta driving one handed, the other playing with the seam of Doyoung’s jeans, fingers pressing into the sensitive parts of his thigh. Doyoung’s eyes had been locked on the road, attempting to maintain some grasp on reality as Yuta drove him home and crazy.

Now, Yuta’s hand was held tightly against the base of his jaw, bottom fingers pressing against his throat as he held his head pinned against the wall of his room. Doyoung had only had a second to glance around, a mere breath to see that his room was light blue with some posters hanging. In one corner was a metal stand, Doyoung’s eyes clinging to it for sanity, the top shelf all plants, middle books, and bottom shoes. A desk held a box of vinyls and a record player and several shelves and stands held knick-knacks and books and the bed was an oddly pretty white metal frame with plants sketched in color scattered around it. The room wasn’t Yuta’s style, but it _was_ his personality and it was all Doyoung could use to ground himself as Yuta’s mouth marked his neck and exposed shoulder. 

His button down had several buttons popped out, sliding half way down one shoulder and creasing the fabric and his mind, though he was only sure he’d be able to iron the kinks out of _one_ of the two. The other hand gripped his waist tightly, prying his hips from the wall to meet Yuta’s own and Doyoung’s hands struggled to find purchase, fumbling over Yuta and the wall, scratching uselessly at blue paint that did nothing to secure him. At a particularly hard bite, Doyoung’s jaw slid open in a gasp and Yuta took the opportunity to slide his thumb inside, pressing gently on his lip and teeth, feeling the soft and smooth and wet expanses of his mouth. Doyoung’s tongue on reflex investigated the foreign object, swiping gently, tasting his skin and fingerprint.

Yuta smiled against the skin of his neck, voice rasping gently, “Your mouth is just as soft as I thought it would be.” Doyoung wasn’t sure why those words affected him. Maybe it was the fact that Yuta had actually _thought_ about him and hadn’t been joking. Maybe it was the fact that Yuta was openly complimenting him, offering saccharine words that melted Doyoung’s walls. Maybe it was the fact that it was _Yuta_ , who was speaking to him in such a tone that he was certain could burn churches to nothing but ash and memory, that made him weak.

“Don’t tell me you’ve thought about this,” Doyoung was testing his coat again, pushing buttons on an elevator to floors he didn’t know existed, testing labeless liquors found in the back of cupboards. He found himself a lot more willing to tempt fate around Yuta, a certain underlying recklessness accompanying the safety he felt around the man. Yuta wasn’t the angel nor the devil on Doyoung’s shoulder, but rather the innate human conscience asking the question _what’s the worst that could happen?_

“Only since I’ve met you,” Yuta admitted and it sent Doyoung’s skin ablaze. There was such a fire behind those words, the type of fire that burned entire cities to the ground, leaving nothing but ash and ruin behind. Those words were _dangerous_ , _scorching_ , and Doyoung found himself ready to self immolate, finding himself being the lone church burning in Yuta’s wake.

“Good,” Doyoung breathed heavily, voice far airier than normal, mouth still moving around the thumb pressed there, the taste of his fingertips charred into Doyoung’s memory, “I’ve thought about it, too.” 

The sound that broke from Yuta’s chest was deeper than Doyoung had expected and sent every nerve in his body into a fit attempting to process the moment, nothing forming fully in his mind, senses covered in something honey thick and just as sweet. Yuta withdrew him from the wall and moved him towards the bed, stalking him there in an almost predatory manner. Yuta moved like a killer and Doyoung supposed he truly was. 

Doyoung tried not to think about the level of fucked up he was for allowing someone like Yuta to maneuver him onto the bed, crowding him there like he wasn’t able to leave, like he didn’t have a choice but to lay down and let Yuta do as he pleased for the night. Something about the connotation, the implication, the tone of the moment made Doyoung far needier than he expected. 

Doyoung shut the facts of the situation and the person out of his mind as Yuta opened his shirt roughly, ignoring Doyoung’s surprised noise as a button popped off and fell to the ground. Doyoung ignored who Yuta _was_ and replaced him with who he _is_. The Yuta above him was the Yuta Doyoung wanted to see, the one who worked at the grocery store and made Doyoung laugh with his chest and knew where and how to touch him in ways that sent him spiralling. After all, that _was_ Yuta, if only half of him. 

When Yuta’s mouth marked the skin beneath his pec with a dark hickey, Doyoung’s mind slowly melted. He gave up on thinking of the rightness and wrongness of his situation, stopped thinking about who Yuta was and who he is, stopped thinking about whether he would or wouldn’t regret it when sunlight bathed the room and all that was left was memories and bruises. Doyoung had always been stiff, had always been _above_ this, had always denied himself a moment to be _young_. Tonight Doyoung would indulge himself in a mere moment of blissful carelessness to the world around him, allowing the man to reduce him to cinders and ash and a simple memory. Yuta was quickly working the tightness from his body, fingers unknotting each of the binds that held him hostage, removing his inhibitions dark mark by dark mark, purging him of his restraints by fire.

Yuta knew what he was doing; he was so experienced and skilled in ways that were hard to process and Doyoung found himself ready for him to _show_ him everything he knew.

Yuta’s hands fondled his growing bulge from atop his jeans, pressing firmly and earning a breathy noise from Doyoung’s throat. “I’d like to undress you now.” 

“Please,” The word came from deep in Doyoung’s throat and if he wasn’t busy unravelling, he was certain he’d be embarrassed. 

Yuta mouthed at his nipple, almost as a reward, while his fingers made quick work of the belt and jeans he wore. In moments, Doyoung found himself sprawled out in his red boxers and shirt fanned out, staring up at Yuta as the man stood over him, scanning every inch of his body. There was an insecurity that formed in the base of Doyoung’s throat the longer Yuta stared, unmoving. Doyoung’s fingers gripped the bed spread and it was a short moment before he blurted his apology while Yuta sang his praise.

_Sorry_ and _wow_ blurred together and Doyoung felt his face heat as Yuta’s eyes grew. 

“Sorry?” Yuta repeated, “For what?” 

“I don’t know,” Doyoung shrugged uncomfortably, “I wasn’t sure if- I don’t know- just ignore me.”

Yuta sighed, but his eyes travelled down Doyoung’s body, thumb pressing against his own lip as he thought. Finally, he stepped forward again, hands landing on Doyoung’s knees and prying his legs open rather roughly. Yuta was a strange mix between soft and rough, grasp gentle but movements _mean_ , and Doyoung couldn’t help but think his style of fucking was so much like his personality. 

One of his hands moved up the expanse of his thigh and chest until it landed on his neck again, stroking the skin softly and striking small sparks alight everywhere he had touched. By the end of the night Doyoung knew he would be a pile of soot and burned skin, but the pyromania was prevalent. “You know, your mouth is incredibly sexy, however _that_ was not.” Doyoung flinched slightly, an apology forming on his tongue before Yuta spoke over him, “There is nothing for you to apologize for. You are _gorgeous_. _Very_ sexy. You have that cute and pretty look going for you, all the while accidentally seducing people with your mannerisms. You’re the most dangerous kind of sexy, the kind that doesn’t _know_ they’re driving people wild.” 

Yuta half kneeled on the bed, mouth falling to Doyoung’s ear, voice coursing through Doyoung’s veins like a slow acting paralytic, “The way you play with your tongue in your teeth, your fingers tapping and dancing and dipping into everything, all the times you pull your eyebrows together in conversation. All those outfits you wear that show off just enough of your body to let everyone know its shape, but never revealing enough for a properly formed image. The way you blush bright pink at every immoral action. They all get people _thinking_ , you know? Have them nearly _obsessing_.”

Doyoung’s body had melted, mind officially gone, gone, _gone_. 

There wasn’t a bone left in him, not a protest found, Yuta speaking so softly but so viciously in his ear, the words so raw and his tone so gravelly. Every thought left him a pile of _nothing_ on his bed. 

“It’s amazing,” Yuta breathed, “How you can be so oblivious to this when all you’ve done this week was make me want to rail you.”

Doyoung cursed, hand making its way to tangle and knot themselves in Yuta’s hair and finally they were kissing again and Doyoung was able to feel his body return to earth from the trip Yuta’s words sent him on. Doyoung let himself slip back into the sensation of letting go again, allowing himself to be absorbed completely in the moment he was living in. 

Maybe Doyoung was too constrained to his shroud of sophistication, but Yuta didn’t seem to mind that, easily peeling that cover away, leaving him with nothing to hide behind. Yuta was skilled at disarming people, both literally and figuratively. 

Watching Yuta undress was something entirely unequivocally unrivaled in Doyoung’s memory. His movements were languid, shirt tugging the tee shirt from his jeans as though he had nowhere else in the world to be- and he was _right_. When the fabric was forgotten on the floor, Doyoung’s eyes trailed the expanse of his tattoos, of the navel piercing. A distant, caliginous memory floated to the front of his mind like a fog rolling over the hills, reminding him that he had _seen_ those before. The night he had been drunk and slept in the spare room, he remembered the vague taste of interest at the tattoos decorating him. Now, Doyoung was staring again, tracing them with his eyes to memorize them in fear he wouldn’t see them again. 

The tattoos were stunning, bold and strong and soft and sweet, all mixtures of art that Doyoung could sum up to be Yuta’s personality neatly. There were too many for Doyoung to focus on all of them, but several stood out in his mind as _memorable_. The calligraphy tracing his muscular ribs in patterns he could recognize now as Japanese, though the words escaped his minds understanding. The cherry blossoms that decorated his accentuated hipbones that Doyoung could almost taste the sweetness of. The dragon swirling from under his pec, curling around the muscle and over to the dip of his collarbone, almost as though it were protecting his heart. The swirling tattoos he had seen before now made more sense as he stared at the way the line separated into three, dipping and curving with dots thrown in, before reconnecting to the end of a flat line all settled beneath his right collarbone. A geometric lotus was planted partially under his right pec and partially on his ribcage, breathing with him as he watched Doyoung admire him. 

“I have more,” Yuta supplied, and Doyoung felt himself release the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, mind sloshing as though it was full of water, unstable and unable to fully concentrate, “Would you like to see?” 

“Yeah,” Doyoung breathed heavily, his mind able to conclude on only _one_ thing and that was to get Yuta _naked_ , “I would.”

Doyoung didn’t miss the way Yuta smirked, but his eyes followed the movement of his hands as he undid his jeans, sliding them down his legs and leaving him in black briefs tight and short enough to see the expanse of his upper thighs. Similar to his torso, there were many tattoos littering his skin, but his eyes caught on a few and wouldn’t let go. On his left thigh was a bare branch tree, sketched and detailed and vacant and spindly. Curving along the edge of his right thigh was a black and white and orange koi, one that carried a small lily pad on its head. On his right thigh was a woman in an almost grotesque fashion, naked and bleeding and slightly dismembered and covered in scales, but in a way that felt _artistic_.

Yuta must have noticed his lingering gaze on the tattoo because he answered the unasked question lingering in the air, “ _Ero guro_. It’s an art form. I can show you some I drew later.” 

Doyoung nodded dumbly, eyes still caught on the fact that Yuta was both practically naked and practically covered in tattoos. Yuta didn’t mind the lack of a true answer, crawling back on top of Doyoung hurriedly as though he’d been denied _too_ long. Yuta’s lips found his again and there was a long time where they did nothing but _kiss_. Doyoung’s hands became braver, allowing himself the chance to explore the muscle lined body that Yuta worked to tone, fingers dancing across permanently inked art. His fingers felt every dip and ridge of his spine and every valley of his ribs and the sharp slopes of his hipbones. He felt the way Yuta’s body was practically an hourglass with the width of his hips and slimness of his waist. Yuta was toned in a way that told the story of his hours of martial arts training, both lithe and thin and made for strength and speed, but most importantly his body was trained for _endurance_.

Doyoung worried briefly if he were going to be able to keep up with Yuta, his body decidedly _not_ designed in the same way. 

Yuta, though, didn’t seem to want to relinquish any control, not allowing Doyoung to make _any_ initiations, and Doyoung was more than willing to let him do as he wanted. 

Yuta kissed in a way that Doyoung _hadn’t_ expected. It was far more tender than Doyoung had expected, lips sliding smoothly, lax and unrushed and unconcerned. He kissed like time had stopped and they had eternity to drink the moment in, like they could spend a lifetime moving like this. It made Doyoung’s head spin and body disintegrate into nothingness and mollified his mind. 

There was such a perfect contention between the parts of Yuta, one that made Doyoung want to study him for long periods of time, and perhaps that was exactly what he was doing.

Doyoung could admit there was a voice nagging in the corner of his mind, questioning how he had gotten here and reminding him that this _wasn’t_ required in order to write an op-ed on crime rings in Neo City. However, the larger part of Doyoung’s brain smothered that voice with the taste of Yuta’s tongue tracing the inside of his mouth. 

It felt like years before Yuta moved again, legs shifting until he could comfortably sink on top of Doyoung, hips slotting together as he ground against him. Doyoung hadn’t been expecting the contact, squeaking slightly in surprise causing Yuta to laugh. “I thought you were a rabbit, not a mouse.”

“I’m a _person_ , not either. Plus, rabbits don’t kiss.” Doyoung added the second part as an afterthought, the words rushed on a breath. 

“But they do fuck and they do fuck _a lot_.” Yuta’s eyebrow twitched upwards in a tease, bangs hanging from his head. He looked like trouble, lips swollen and red and skin glossy, eyes dilated but focused completely on Doyoung. Doyoung was almost concerned with how he looked if Yuta looked _that_ messy already, though he supposed whatever his appearance was currently, Yuta was devouring it hungrily.

Doyoung was scowling despite the fact that he knew Yuta was teasing him, enjoying the way he was so easily riled up and flustered, “Talking about rabbits having sex is _not_ a turn on. I don’t want to think about _that_.” 

Yuta’s grin was shit eating, a fox cornering a rabbit in the barn, and Doyoung felt his body reacting to such a vicious image. “But thinking about _this_ rabbit fucking is definitely a turn on for me.” 

Doyoung punched his shoulder gently, but his face was warm and betrayed his snow flurried thoughts, “Stop that.”

Yuta’s laugh was genuine again, soft and sing-songy, glowing in the dim lighting from the small lamp by the door that he had turned on in favor of the overhead light. Doyoung reached behind his head and slipped the already failing band from his hair. He watched as it fell in a smooth silk sheet around his face, slightly voluminous but a crease formed in the middle where the tie had held. It felt like a strange thing to extol in his mind during a moment where they were supposed to be ravenous, but Doyoung supposed nothing with Yuta ever felt _rushed_. “You have really nice hair.” 

Yuta hummed his appreciation, leaning back down to steal several soft kisses, lips moving to kiss other features of Doyoung’s face after. When he spoke it was against Doyoung’s cheek, breath fanning and making him shiver at the sensation, “Thank you. When I first grew it out, I was concerned it would be _too_ feminine looking. I talked to Jungwoo about it though and his answer made it sound so simple that I was dumb for even being concerned in the first place.”

Doyoung cocked his head and Yuta withdrew slightly, pressing another chaste kiss to his lips as he did so, “What’d he say?” 

“ _What’s the problem with that?_ ” Yuta laughed softly as Doyoung absorbed the information, “He asked me what the problem with being feminine was and when I said nothing, he asked what I was waiting for then. If I liked the look, why not? What’s the problem then? It made me re-evaluate a lot.”

Doyoung let his fingers slide through the silk sheet of hair, let the chestnut color contrast nicely with his skin. He did that several times, Yuta melting into the touch slowly before on the final pass, Doyoung started at the root and grabbed tightly. Yuta hissed, eyes opening as Doyoung stared back at him, “I _definitely_ like it.”

With that, Yuta found a renewed vigor, his patience thinning as dawn was nearing. Doyoung wasn’t sure how long they had been at this, but he was certain it was well into the early hours of the morning now. Doyoung couldn’t find it in him to mind though, as kissing Yuta felt like a pass time he could grow fond of.

Yuta sat back on his knees, mouth still not leaving Doyoung’s as he took his turn to roam his body. His hands felt the curves of his waist and the flat expanse of his stomach and the fullness of his thighs- Doyoung was gifted a wonderful body shape, tapered and long and proportioned so incredibly nicely, it was a shame he wasn’t a sports kid because he was certain genetics set him up for success in that department. 

Yuta’s hands finally played with the waistband of his underwear, snapping the elastic in smooth flicks that left Doyoung’s skin red in many places. Yuta moved his mouth back just enough to speak, breath still warming Doyoung’s skin in a manner that felt far too intimate for the action it was, “Are you still okay with me continuing?” 

Doyoung nodded quickly, nose brushing Yuta’s cheek as he did so, “Yeah, please do.” 

Yuta made fast work of the underwear, Doyoung helping the process by folding and bending as needed, before he removed his own and left nothing more to Doyoung’s imagination. The cherry blossoms Doyoung had seen before trailed down his hipbones and curved around his pelvis, completely unexpectedly. Doyoung’s eyes were trapped on the colorless, sketched tattoos, actively avoiding Yuta’s half-hard cock as though his mind wasn’t ready to address it. 

There was a moment where Doyoung had done nothing but stare and Yuta chuckled softly, almost curiously, “Like what you see?” 

“Your tattoo continues?” Doyoung managed, voice hoarse, and he wondered when had his voice gotten so wrecked? 

Yuta glanced down and nodded, almost as though he had forgotten about his own tattoo, “Yeah, it continues.”

“I like it.” Was all Doyoung was able to answer with before tugging the other man back down, silencing his racing mind and sand laden tongue. Their movements were slightly rougher now, the mood growing more aggressive the closer that Yuta got to possessing Doyoung fully. Yuta’s mouth trailed burning embers down Doyoung’s body, kisses hot and wet and seared into his skin and mind alike. Doyoung wasn’t sure if this moment would happen again, though he was positive there would be nights where it was on repeat in his mind until the morning would claw him from such memories. 

Yuta pulled away only momentarily to rummage noisily through the nightstand, withdrawing a small sachet. Doyoung’s eyes widened when Yuta withdrew a purple vibrator, no bigger than two fingers, and a bottle of lube and a roll of condoms. Doyoung looked away, staring at the ceiling as his face flushed hot again. Yuta laughed lightly, nudging back between Doyoung’s legs and encouraging him to slide up the mattress. “Relax, Doyoung.” Doyoung hadn’t realized his body had contracted again, muscles preparing to bolt at the first sign of contact. Doyoung let himself melt into the sheets again, Yuta watching with a content smile. “You can say no at any point, we don’t _have_ to do this.” 

There was something endearing about the reassurance that had Doyoung’s heart beating just a slight bit faster. “I don’t want to say no.”

Yuta’s smile was small yet genuine and he fit back between Doyoung’s legs easily. When Yuta slicked his fingers and dipped back into Doyoung’s neck there was a tremor that stole through him again, a small, quiet _maybe I shouldn’t be doing this_. It was silenced quickly by Yuta’s hand brushing the inners of his thighs and Doyoung automatically bent his knees, heels digging into the sheets now. When Yuta’s fingers pressed against his perineum, his body jerked on reflex. Yuta shushed him sweetly with soft kisses that clung to his skin in distracting wet patches. It took him only a second longer for his thumb to press flatly against Doyoung’s hole, his thighs trembling and threatening to give way at the sensation. It had been _far_ too long since someone else had taken care of him and now that it was _Yuta_ , willing to spend hours loitering with him as his body crumbled to nothingness, was slightly overwhelming.

When Yuta applied pressure and almost let his thumb breach, Doyoung keened lowly in his throat, a noisy complaint voiced from a broken mouth. “What’s wrong?” There was a humor in his voice, one that betrayed his worry for the amusement it was. 

“Stop teasing me.” Doyoung bit out and he wasn’t sure if it was about the words or the movements, but it suited both, “It’s rude.” 

“Apologies,” Yuta said automatically, pressing firmly with his index finger and sliding it in with an unexpected motion causing Doyoung’s body to tense and thighs to quake again, “Allow me to make it up to you.” 

Yuta’s initial finger felt as it always did: foreign, a strange pressure on a strange part of the body. It wasn’t _uncomfortable_ , but it certainly wasn’t _comfortable_. It took several moments of movements coated in languid leisure before Doyoung’s body began to feel comfortable with the motions and relaxed enough for Yuta to begin crooking and searching. Doyoung jolted when he curled just right, awakening the bundle of nerves nestled there. Yuta made an excited noise, leaning back to sit on his heels as he fondled Doyoung’s thigh with his free hand, leaving mottled spots that were certain to stay for several days after, a stain of a memory. 

“Found it,” Yuta practically sang, prideful and excited. It made Doyoung scowl despite the way his body reacted intensely to the almost _playful_ way Yuta was addressing him. There was a strange competitiveness in his actions, as though he were attempting to win, but Doyoung was unsure of _what_.

Doyoung had opened his mouth to object when Yuta curled his finger again and silenced him with a huff. It took Yuta only a minute or so before he slid the second finger along with the first, curling and twisting them, watching in amusement as Doyoung slowly became nothing more than a pliable doll, something he had voiced cheerfully several times already in a way that Doyoung was unable to deny as his mouth had slowly become useless. 

It was by the time the third finger had joined that Doyoung’s brain had become so fuzzy, it took him a minute to understand Yuta was asking him a question. “What?” He managed to wheeze, far too focused on keeping his legs from becoming knock-kneed around Yuta’s body. 

“I asked if you wanted to try the vibrator?” Yuta’s voice had dropped, was slightly rougher than before. The amusement was still clinging to his tone, but there was an impatience that hung heavy to every syllable as a red-light warning. 

Doyoung _wanted_ to respond, but Yuta was still pressing circles into his prostate and thigh, the only confirmation he was able to give a simple bob of the head mixed with a high whine as he collapsed back again. Doyoung wondered briefly how long he had been making noises he was unaware of, both high in his nose and slipping straight through his teeth. Yuta groaned in response, digging a bit rougher than before causing Doyoung to choke, “You sound so fucking pretty. All I’ve done is finger you and you’re already a mess. Are you sure you can take more? Wouldn’t want to damage such a pretty doll.” 

Doyoung covered his face with shaky hands as though he could disappear into the floral duvet if he tried hard enough. “S-Stop,” His voice was nothing more than a gasp, a shaky statement said in nothing but cloud vapor, “Don’t.”

Yuta sniggered so deep in his throat it might as well have been a growl as his fingers tore at Doyoung’s insides. He no longer fingered him with gentle care or understanding, now it was _rough_ , pressing and twisting and _clawing_. His voice was cruel, rough against Doyoung’s spine not unlike the scrape of sandpaper against sensitive skin, “Can’t even _speak_ , you’re already so fucked out.” Doyoung didn’t know when he had closed his eyes against his hands but they flew open at the sensation of the firm and smoothing plastic sliding over Yuta’s fingers and filling him entirely. Doyoung hadn’t felt so _full_ in ages, his usual masturbation periods not having time for such a long process. He pulled his hands from his face to stare at the man above him, watching as Yuta was seemingly enjoying himself, eyes trailing between where Doyoung was stretched over his fingers and the toy to Doyoung’s face. 

“Such a pretty little bitch, you know that?” The mewl that left Doyoung was _pathetic_ , even against his own ears. He couldn’t remember ever having sounded so wrecked before, couldn’t remember a time where his body was out of his control and someone else was pulling his marionette strings. Doyoung had always had complete control of himself, even during his rare sexual escapades, always been far too aware of himself and his surroundings to allow himself to be broken down. Yuta, though, had the ability to shatter the glass cage he locked himself in as though he was hiding in nothing more than a house of cards. He had been able to build such a safe and comfortable environment that Doyoung had forgotten to be guarded and he found himself growing addicted to the feeling of being taken care of.

“Don’t say that,” Doyoung bit out, throat choking the words, as his mind short circuited, " _Please_." 

“Is that too mean for you? Too harsh? How about _baby_ instead?” Yuta's tone was light and teasing, but there was a double edged meaning drawing blood from simple words that left Doyoung weak, so weak. 

The constricted noise that left Doyoung’s throat left him a shuttering mess as Yuta’s fingers and the toy moved in and out at such an agonizingly slow pace that was just a bit _too_ much, grazing the oversensitive bundle of nerves with every odd thrust. “ _Please_ ,” He wasn’t sure what he was begging for or why, but there was a desperation in his tone that had Yuta cooing again.

“Oh, baby,” Yuta’s voice was hoarse now, so much deeper and rougher with a lilt of an accent that Doyoung hadn’t noticed before, and suddenly the match was dropped into the gasoline coating Doyoung’s skin. It was the tone he spoke in that sent Doyoung’s body into overdrive, his limbs twitching slightly, abdomen contracting violently as he attempted to pull the foreign objects deeper into his body, half formed curses falling from his graceful mouth, body diminutive underneath Yuta and only growing smaller by the second as he tried to fold in on himself. Yuta’s hand left his thigh for a second and Doyoung wanted to see what he was doing, but his eyelashes were glued shut and body refusing to respond to his commands. Then, the vibrations started. At first, it felt like nothing, simple vibration inside of his body, a neutral feeling all on its own, slightly comforting if Doyoung was honest, a distraction from the throbbing of his untouched and long neglected cock. 

Then Yuta shifted it, the side pressing against his overly abused nerves and Doyoung was finally _gone_. His brain whited out, eyes cracking open as his voice tore from his throat in a way that he was certain bounced around the house, though Yuta caught every syllable and swallowed them whole. His thighs contracted, knees knocking into Yuta’s hips as he rode out the beginning’s of his orgasm. With a single shift of the vibrator, the tiniest of thrusts, Doyoung felt tears leaking from his eyes as his face contorted and body struggled through the tenseness of his muscles, cock lurching before he was _finally_ cumming. Pearly streams decorated his chest and leaked over onto the shirt still hanging open off his body, shimmering over flushed honey skin. Doyoung was speaking, though the words were foreign to his ears, unable to understand as his body attempted to process the moment he immolated. 

Yuta worked him through it gently, fingers and toy working in and out gently, eyes fixated on Doyoung as he was wracked with tremors and tears and pleas of _something_. It took him _minutes_ to come down, body far too stimulated to ever actually drop from the high. Everything in him was on fire as his mind returned and he realized belatedly that Yuta’s fingers had slipped from around the toy that still hung closer to his entrance, vibrating softly. Doyoung’s body wasn’t given a chance to soften, not before he was able to see Yuta through tear thick lashes, watching the man lube himself. 

“Still okay?” Yuta asked and Doyoung knew if he said _no_ , Yuta would drop it, and something about _that_ made Doyoung want to continue. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, though, mind and body still too disconnected to form coherent words, so instead he nodded briefly. Yuta took the consent as a green light, looking feverish as he scooped on of his thighs over his shoulder and drew closely. “I’m sorry if this hurts, baby, I’ll try and be gentle.” It was a belated realization that Yuta hadn’t withdrawn the vibrator that was still numbingly buzzing away inside of him. Yuta’s cockhead slipped underneath it with a slight bit of pressure and Doyoung’s neck craned as he dug his skull into the mattress again. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” His voice was far too loud with the only clear word he’d spoken in what felt like years. He wasn’t sure what to feel other than _overwhelmed_. His body was still on edge from his orgasm, limbs weak as they lay limp on the bed, occasionally twitching or grasping at the sheets, every nerve in him alive but dead all at once. Doyoung had known fucking Yuta was going to be life-changing, but it quite possibly was life-ending. 

The stretch around both Yuta and the toy was uncomfortable with a stinging type of burn, though the buzzing was numbing some of the sensation and confusing his mind as to whether he could or couldn’t feel it. When Yuta’s hips pressed against his ass, he stilled. There was a long moment where Yuta seemed to watch Doyoung as though he were about to disintegrate, disappear directly in front of him, slip through his fingers as though he were sand. He was gently grinding, quietly humming to himself as he did so, as though he wasn’t tearing Doyoung’s body apart, nerve by nerve. Yuta was far too composed while Doyoung was far too wrecked. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Yuta’s voice was mild but restrained, sweat beading along his hairline and expression slightly tense. The pet-name made Doyoung whine again, body clenching and twitching. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, baby, you know that? Soft as silk, y’know?” Yuta accentuated his words with the smallest of thrusts that had Doyoung whining again, “So tight. _So_ tight. You don’t fuck around a lot, huh, baby?” 

Doyoung was only able to shake his head, whimpering constantly now, unable to stop the sounds. He wanted to feel embarrassed, but once again Yuta’s presence made him far too raw to be able to hide anything. 

“Good,” Yuta breathed heavily, “Keep it tight for daddy.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Doyoung hadn’t expected the words to fall from Yuta’s mouth and he hadn’t expected his body to react so violently, a shudder tearing through him and crushing his last support beams under the weight of the fire. 

Yuta laughed, “Wow, baby, I didn’t expect you to have a _daddy kink_ , but I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Doyoung managed to shake his head, “I don’t,” He was able to mumble over his paralyzed tongue, body shivering and uncontrolled, “ _It’s you_.”

Yuta groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating as his hands depressed the mattress by Doyoung’s head, pulling his thigh to his chest in a way that stretched him out completely, left him vulnerable. His mouth dropped low, voice travelling quickly through his bloodstream like a venom, body slowly collapsing into death as he rode the high, “I’ll remember that, baby.” 

Yuta fucked exactly how Doyoung thought he would. His thrusts were rough and pointed, one hand ducked between the two to hold the vibrator still. His rhythm was rolling and smooth, body clearly accustomed to taking the best of people and claiming it as his own. His mouth worked over every inch of skin around Doyoung’s chest and neck and he was clear in his commands of Doyoung remaining nothing more than a willing participant. There had been a moment where Doyoung had reached for his cock and Yuta had snatched it away faster than he could process. 

The pathetic sob that left him was a sound he refused to address as Yuta snarled into his ear, “ _No touching_ ,” His voice was unyielding and scolding and Doyoung felt it into the core of his soul, “You take what daddy gives you.” It had taken Doyoung several staggered breaths, shattered by his unrelenting and consistent pace in order to recover from the words he had used, brain melting from his ears once again as he was unable to fully come to terms with the sins he was committing. 

Yuta’s movements were growing slightly unhinged, not quite erratic, though Doyoung thought that that was as close to uncomposed that Yuta would ever come. His fingers gripping the thigh slung over his shoulder with a print staining his skin as a reminder of the way Doyoung was broken down beneath him. Yuta’s body was covered in glittering sweat, the sky starting to brighten outside in a murky grey color that signalled dawn's close arrival, looking oddly beautiful on top of Doyoung. He was flushed and sweaty, hair a mess of sweat-wet clumps and areas Doyoung had grabbed to firmly. There were marks on his neck and chest, though he was far less decorated than Doyoung, lips bitten raw from teeth both his and foreign. His features were contorted and strained as his body chased after a high he could only find deep inside of Doyoung. 

“Can you cum again, baby?” Yuta finally asked, voice broken as his hips refused to change their numbing pace. Doyoung wasn’t sure if he could, but it seemed like Yuta wasn’t giving him another option as he angled the vibrator upwards again. This time the toy wasn’t brushing against his prostate, rather pressed firmly to it and Doyoung found himself sobbing again, eyes flowing with crystalline tears that Yuta seemed to appreciate. “You look so gorgeous baby, all spread out on my cock. Look at you dripping all over yourself and making such a mess. You’re so greedy. You already came once and now you’re going to again? Absolutely spoiled.” 

Doyoung’s mind didn’t process the words, but his cock did, the ache in his groin and thighs becoming too much again, pulling all his muscles taut. Once again he was at the mercy of Yuta’s filthy mouth and ability to control every piece of his existence with the simple twists of his fingers. Yuta pulled Doyoung’s other thigh onto his shoulder, bending him in half before reaching back down to grip the toy again and hold it back in place, the vibrations shattering Doyoung’s already frail mind. Now that he was properly secured, Yuta’s free hand curved around his lap and gripped his cock, palming the head gently as he spoke again, “I want to see you cum again, baby. Show me how good you look cumming on my cock this time.”

Doyoung was crying loudly again with tears streaking a blotchy face, body engulfed completely in the flames that Yuta had set on him, stuck to a pyre with an audience watching as he turned to ash and dust and he _loved_ it. Doyoung didn’t last much longer as his body contorted and clenched and spasmed in ways far beyond expectation, the only thing keeping him in place ws Yuta’s own body pinning him there, thrusting roughly as he fucked him through it. Yuta was praising him the whole way through, saccharine words complimenting the way he looked, how stunning he was strung out and messy, how much of a mess he truly was, how delicious he looked covered in cum and sweat and tears and how Yuta wanted to _devour_ him. Yuta was a talker, one with a mouth so perversely savage that attacked every single one of Doyoung’s weak spots and left him boneless and doughy, begging in slurred words for something he wasn’t even sure about. 

It took Yuta several minutes of rough thrusting into Doyoung’s melted, pliable body, before he finally came, sinking his teeth in Doyoung’s shoulder and grumbling in his ear praises and curses that only succeeded in drawing fucked out and pathetic whimpers. They stayed like that, Doyoung folded with Yuta crushing him for a long moment, until Yuta slid out gently, hushing him with soft kisses as he complained quietly. Doyoung watched with bleary eyes as Yuta crossed the room quietly. He glanced to the window over the bed and saw the first shade of green that signified early morning and he guessed it was close to five or six. Doyoung’s eyelids were heavy, body exhausted, and he hadn’t realized it, but sleep engulfed him entirely before Yuta was even able to return to the bed, holding him hostage until he recovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long, i have a weird thing where i start smut and then get shy halfway through and take a break dkjfdkj it's wack
> 
> also, this was initially going to be a threesome bc we just met Jae, but then i thought that that would be best to be save till later as i'm still deciding between whether or not i want a JohnDoTae or a YuJaeDo. opinions on that are always welcome. i also thought about continuing the chapter after the smut but it's already long asf (almost 10k lmao) so i called it quits haha
> 
> anyways! let me know what you think, i hope you're enjoying!!<3<3<3<3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/MidnightSuhn)  
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/MidnightPasses?t=156572385)


	5. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the sweetest honey can be poisoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! this is early, but this was the part I almost included in the last chapter, so I guess i'm counting this as half a chapter? I also needed something to focus on other than negativity, so i focused on this baby.
> 
> it's mostly dialogue, but i reeeeally want you guys to /officially/ meet Jaehyun since he was vaguely introduced. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy<3<3<3

The morning came with a wet sunlight, and the afternoon with clouds hanging drearily in the sky signifying the change in seasons. The rains would come, Yuta knew, they always did, and like clockwork another year would pass. Climbing from the bed in which Doyoung’s slightly battered form lay unmoving, save the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed, was harder than Yuta expected. Yuta wasn’t sure if he had actually fallen asleep after cleaning up Doyoung, though he didn’t mind. Laying there through the early morning, listening to the way Doyoung would breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth was relaxing enough. 

Yuta liked this, the intimacy.

It felt warm, not unlike the way hot springs did or sunlight in spring or tea in the winter. It felt like some of his favorite memories, ones he clung to. He found himself quite liking Doyoung’s company and _that_ was what drew him from the bed, as though his removal from the warmth would sever the emotional turmoil raiding his chest.

After a shower what imprinted memories he could and dressing in clean clothing, he found himself in the kitchen at the ripe time of 1:07 p.m., Doyoung having yet to force himself from the bed. Taeyong was in the kitchen, humming softly to a song playing from his phone as he was baking, Johnny long gone to work and having left his lover to his own devices. Taeyong wasn’t alone in the kitchen, though, much to Yuta’s chagrin, having hoped to sit with his best friend in quiet company and discuss the tangled web of Yuta’s brain.

Jaehyun sat at _Yuta’s_ stool, a wicked grin stealing his face when he noticed Yuta’s presence, the man’s existence the persistent sliver in Yuta’s thumb. “Hey, doll.” His voice was too thick, too velvety, against Yuta’s ears. It was irritating how Jaehyun was an unrealistically casual sort of attractive. The man rarely dressed in something other than a pressed tee shirt and nice jeans, though he looked so _expensive_ from the necklace dangling in between his collarbones to the ever present silver bracelet on his wrist. His chestnut colored hair rarely was styled, brushed back while wet and left to decide its own fate, skin soft and peachy and seeming to never carry the distinctly _human_ look of texture or color. He was tall and broad and Yuta _knew_ underneath his clothing, his body was as perfected as everything else, something he found equal parts sickening and arousing. He was as close to flawless as a human would ever get, all peachy pallor and silver and smooth lines.

Yuta found himself glowering in response to the man, but it was Taeyong who spoke next, voice chirpy like an excited cat, “Nice of you to awaken, finally. Have fun last night?” 

Yuta’s gaze was minutely softer when it landed on Taeyong, the man looking far too soft with his flat hair and wide eyes, bundled in a black sheepskin sweater and matching shorts that rode up his thighs. Taeyong hated the winter, hated the cold. “Yeah,” Yuta responded when it was clear the conversation wasn’t moving on without him. Taeyong seemed grateful for the acknowledgment and went back to his fluttering around the kitchen. 

“Good, because you kept Johnny up. He was complaining all night which made it hard for me to sleep. Next time, try to be quieter, please.” Taeyong’s voice was scolding in a way that reminded Yuta of his mother and he often wondered how the man had developed _that_ personality. 

Jaehyun made a strange noise in his nose, drawing the attention back onto him. He stuck another chip in his mouth as he spoke, dimples creasing his cheeks, “So you _did_ bring that pretty little thing back here? What’s his name?” 

“Mind your business,” Yuta said and stole the stool at the end of the bar, sitting far too stiffly in a place where he was usually so comfortable, “It’s not your concern who I am and am not bringing home.” 

Jaehyun hummed, watching him with a playful amusement that Yuta wanted to wipe off of his face with Taeyong’s flour rag in a manner that would stain the fabric in reddened splotches. Jaehyun was as close to what Yuta could call an _ex_ in his life. The only problem was he wasn’t far enough gone to _be_ an ex, always lingering in his phone, two texts from his place at midnight, always _there_ one step behind him and around every corner. Having never been officially together meant they had never officially separated, the sex just transforming from casual to hate tainted. “It became my business when you left with _him_ last night.” 

“Speaking of,” Taeyong piped up, facing the two suddenly, hands pointing to both of them, “Quit that fighting. If I find out either of you get banned from Robin’s, I will kill you both and bury you under my roses.”

Yuta deflated slightly, Taeyong’s cheery tone ringing with a double-sided seriousness that had him set back in line. Jaehyun gave him a charming smile, the one he used whenever he attempted to avoid trouble, the one that never worked on Taeyong despite his best efforts. “I would _never_.” 

“Then pick fights outside of the bar,” Taeyong’s voice was taut, unimpressed by the younger’s antics, “I don’t give a shit what kind of foreplay you guys are into, but _please_ for the love of my sanity, keep it _together_.”

“Yes, Boss,” Yuta responded before Jaehyun could dig their hole into a grave, “I’ll keep it together.” 

Jaehyun’s glare read something along the lines of _pussy_ , but his attention was quickly distracted, chicory colored eyes catching behind him. “Oh, hello.” His tone was the same one he used when he had Yuta folded in half beneath him, one full of honey and venom. 

Yuta didn’t have to turn around to know that Doyoung was standing behind him, having finally fumbled into the kitchen. “Hi?” His voice was rougher than normal, but just as silken and _that_ made Yuta turn to look at him. 

Once again, he found the man dressed in _his_ clothes, in _his_ house, and it awoke something in Yuta’s chest he thought died long ago. There were minor hickeys visible above the collarline of the shirt, ones that had been left by Yuta, a deep-seated pride clawing viciously at the inside of his chest at the sight, paired with his slightly chapped and sore looking lips and puffy under-eyes. He looked lovely, in Yuta’s opinion, still wrecked from the night before and favoring his left leg, and _dressed in Yuta’s clothing_. It was a simple outfit, really, just one of his oversized and overworn AD/DC shirts and black sweatpants, but it made Yuta smile at him nonetheless. Yuta was possessive, something he, and everyone else filling the room, knew. When Doyoung caught his gaze, he was hesitant to return the soft expression, the presence of Jaehyun clearly disrupting his thoughts.

“Good morning,” Taeyong chirped again, placated at Yuta’s submission and the entrance of the guest, “Or I should say, good afternoon. Do you want anything to eat?” 

“How come you never offered me anything?” Yuta pouted, sticking his lower lip out as he whined to his friend.

“You live here,” Taeyong waved his flour rag at Yuta with a scowl, fluffing dust in the air that had the man scrunching his nose in response, “You can fix your own meals.” 

Doyoung’s voice was not unkind when he declined, eyes still locked on Jaehyun. Yuta tried to ignore the way that Jaehyun was practically preening under his attention, a beaming smile collapsing his dimples. When Jaehyun spoke, it was in the same viscous tone as before, “Did you sleep well?” 

Doyoung, with no surprise to Yuta, blushed brightly around his nose, eyes diverting from all three of the others in the room, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones in shame, “Yeah,” He mumbled fidgeting with the hem of the shirt he wore, fingers pretty as ever and a distinct reminder of last nights events, Yuta’s mind having been completely taken by so many of Doyoung’s small yet beautiful details.

“Come and sit,” Taeyong finally said, pointing to the seat next to Jaehyun in a way that distressed Yuta silently, “Quit hovering in the corner, it’s making me nervous.” 

Doyoung followed the instructions wordlessly and Jaehyun watched him, pointedly ignoring Yuta’s glare that had become fixated after Doyoung took his first step. “What’s your name?” Jaehyun was interested, _far too interested_ , and Yuta knew it was _only_ because he had taken him to bed last night. 

Doyoung’s expression was confused, as though he were looking at a faded memory, before he finally spoke, voice soft, “Doyoung.”

Jaehyun tested his name several times, each time filling Doyoung’s cheeks with more color in a way that had Yuta’s fingers curling into his palms. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Taeyong’s mentioned you quite a bit.” When Jaehyun turned to look at Yuta it was sparing and languid, almost careless “You always did like the pretty ones.” 

Doyoung was handsome in a way that was so _pretty_. His eyes were perfect almonds and tilted upwards at the lashline and his irises entirely black that glittered under the right lighting as though stars were kept in the abyss. His features were sharp but rounded, like seaglass, with sweet bow shaped petal colors lips, a scar perched directly on the corner. His skin was sunkissed honey but Yuta could tell it would fade to a soft parchment in winter, the color contrasting in a lovely manner with coal black hair. Then there was the fact that he was _tall_ ; just taller than Yuta, possibly the same height as Jaehyun, but he was _lean_ , thin and broad with a tapered waist and slim hips. He was handsome in a delicate way, far too fragile to be pulled into a life like this, Yuta thought.

“Who are you?” Doyoung asked before Yuta could respond, tone accusingly sharp in a way that caught even him off guard, “Why are you here?” 

Jaehyun, too, seemed to be unexpecting of the tone, body tightening slightly before relaxing completely again, dropping his head on his hand, as he gave Doyoung a soft and dreamy look, “Me? I’m Jaehyun. Jae for short. In the field, I’m Yoonoh.”

Doyoung blinked several times, glassy eyes only looking prettier the longer Yuta stared, little obsidian shards stored in perfect condition in his eyes. “You were at the bar last night? You’re the one who got into a fight with Yuta? Over pool?”

Jaehyun chuckled, deep in his throat, as he continued to stare at Doyoung, “Yeah, that happens sometimes.” 

“Why would you start a fight with your friend?” Doyoung asked, something caught between curiosity and inquisition catching his tone as he looked between Yuta and Jaehyun.

“Friend?” Yuta’s tone was rhetorical and Doyoung almost looked offended at the response. Yuta’s heart tugged slightly and he sighed, “Jaehyun is a colleague.”

“Ouch,” Taeyong said as he put the tray of cookies in the oven, reminding them that he was still in the room with them, “That hurt even me.”

Doyoung’s expression was pinched in a way that Yuta had come to familiarize with his internal monologuing, but it was Jaehyun who interrupted it, “Yuta doesn’t like me because he fell in love with me or something.” 

“I did not, you jackass.” Yuta’s stool scraped against the floor as he stood, catching everyone’s attention, “What happened was _you_ chased after _me_ for years to the point where you joined the fucking _gang_ I was in and then decided you were _bored_ and took it out on me. You were a _stalker_.”

Doyoung’s expression was wide and interested, a spark alight in his eye that reminded Yuta he was a _journalist_ , someone who always, unintentionally, wanted the story of _everything_. “So,” The word was slow and drawn out as he began to slide into his inquisitorial mindset that meant two hundred questions would be slipping past petal pink lips, “Uh, you work in the gang?” 

Jaehyun tore himself from Yuta, decided ignoring the man was the right course of action. Yuta was _fuming_ , though, blood hot as it tingled in his fingertips. As much as he hated being talked over, being _ignored_ was worse. “You’re still just calling it _the gang_?”

Doyoung’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and normally Yuta’s attention would be drawn to it, though all he could focus on was the shape of the back of Jaehyun’s head and how incredible it would look if he bashed it in and left him to rot. “I guess I could call it NCT-”

Jaehyun’s laugh bubbled through his chest as he interrupted Doyoung, Yuta’s nostrils flaring at both, “No one gave you introductions here, did they?” Doyoung shook his head, silky hair flopping, “Man, they’re slacking. I thought someone would have at least given you the basics at some point. Only the locals and the news call us _that_. Our name is _Empathy_.”

“ _Empathy_?” Doyoung parroted, “Why?” 

“Taeyong was right, you _are_ full of questions.” Jaehyun’s tone was jovial and it raised the heat in Doyoung’s face and Yuta’s blood. “Ask him.” Jaehyun’s chin jerked towards Taeyong, leaning against the sink as he watched the trio. Doyoung opened his mouth, but Taeyong’s gaze landed on him heavy enough to suffocate the words on his tongue. 

“Yeah, we don’t know either.” Jaehyun admitted when Doyoung looked to him again, “Taeyongie’s a great secret-keeper.” 

“Did you really join because of Yuta?” Doyoung asked finally, though he hadn’t glanced at Yuta in so long, the man was beginning to feel ignored and it settled heavily in his chest in a way that he was working diligently to control.

“Sort of. It’s a very long story, one I could tell you sometime.” Jaehyun offered and Yuta was unable to see his expression, but by Doyoung’s reaction, it was nothing appropriate. 

“What was it we stole?” Doyoung switched quickly, looking to Taeyong, “I mean, yesterday? I know I probably shouldn’t ask, but-” 

“You always have to ask.” Yuta interrupted, voice kind despite the aching in his chest and sweat on his palms. 

Doyoung’s cheeks warmed as he looked to the counter and mumbled his agreeance. Yuta looked to Taeyong, catching his stare. With a quick raise of Taeyong’s eyebrow and him turning back to check on his cookies, Yuta took it as his permission to speak. “We nabbed a bunch of things, but the target was Taeyong’s engagement and wedding rings.”

To say Doyoung was startled at the response would be a drastic understatement, his expression pulling between pinched and wide, mouth agape comically. Yuta felt a smile bubbling up, the tension in his chest relieving slightly at the sight. “What?”

Jaehyun shrugged, inserting himself again, catching Doyoung’s eyes once more, “Taeyong’s had those babies locked up for years, paying for the storage. There’s an insurance on the bank that if anything is damaged or lost within their care, they’ll pay the worth of the item. Taeyong’s also had his own private insurance on it. Put a few pieces together and it’s pretty easy to figure out.”

“So,” Doyoung drawled, “Taeyong gets to keep his rings and the money?” At the confirmation from Jaehyun, Doyoung passed a glance to Taeyong, who was leaning against the sink, looking at his nails with a faint, prideful grin tilting his lips at the corners. Doyoung made a strange noise before speaking, “That’s kind of amazing.”

“Taeyongie is pretty amazing, isn’t he?” Jaehyun cooed, tossing a hand on Doyoung’s shoulder unexpectedly. The sight of his hand landing on his shoulder seemed to be the final string broken on Yuta’s patience as he stalked around the counter, having yet to fully sit back down. Within a breath he had swiped his arm around Jaehyun’s neck as he took the man from the stool and to the ground, locking himself on top of him. There was cursing from both Taeyong and Doyoung, though the two had become locked in on each other again, fighting like caged animals.

The two rolled and bumped into the stools and the wall occasionally, swapping bruises through heavy fists and curses that stung, before Doyoung was able to pry Yuta off of Jaehyun with the help of Taeyong. Doyoung drug Yuta backwards towards the glass patio door that sat at the end of the open dining room, Taeyong dragging a slightly bloodied Jaehyun up off of the floor by his armpits. “Not in my kitchen,” Taeyong shrieked, voice as angry as a firealarm, “Kill each other in the backyard, at the parking lot of the diner, in the school playground, but _not in my fucking kitchen_!” 

Doyoung managed to shove Yuta outside, slamming the door shut behind him, the house rocking with the reverberations of the anger simmering off of Yuta’s skin. “What the fuck was that?” 

Yuta was pacing, hands aching and dripping crimson where the skin split across his knuckles, already bruising from the fight. “I’m going to fucking _kill_ him someday, I will. I’ll be burying his body in the fucking woods myself if he ever touches you again.”

“Yuta!” Doyoung never shouted, his voice far too serene and light for such a brass noise, though Yuta supposed that was the closest thing to a shout he would _ever_ do. “He wasn’t _doing_ anything.” 

“I’m still going to fucking kill him,” Yuta spat out, pacing again, hands wringing despite the blood, anger coursing through him with an intensity he hadn’t felt in ages. Having Jaehyun so close to something he was so _invested_ in, felt as though he’d bitten a raw, exposed nerve. 

Doyoung sighed heavily, pinching his nose as Yuta allowed himself to work a path into the grass. He let him walk for a minute or so, before he made his way over to Yuta, his posture less than sure of his actions. When his fingers touched Yuta’s wrist, the man hissed and backed up, instantly on alert for threats. There was a split second where Doyoung looked _scared_ and Yuta felt immediate guilt dampening _all_ the anger coursing through him. It was gone instantly, though, as a determined look fell on him, his soft fingers grasping Yuta’s wrist roughly in a stern cage that said he wasn’t releasing him as he tugged Yuta to a stop. 

This time, Yuta allowed him to. 

He turned the man to face him fully, studying his face with great care as he began gently wiping the blood from his split lip and cut in his cheek. “You’re going to bruise.” There was a sadness in Doyoung’s voice as he said it, one Yuta was unable to place, as he looked at the damaged to the soft skin, “Why would you do this?” He spoke the words as though he were repeating a recording, a dust coated memory stored in the back of the attic, forgotten and untouched.

Yuta melted slowly under the gentle caresses and nostalgia in his voice. His fingers were warm against damaged skin, but Yuta let it sting, favoring Doyoung’s touch. _Because_ , Yuta thought, _even the sweetest honey can be poisoned._

Jaehyun watched from the dining room as Doyoung calmed Yuta down with an ease unknown to himself. He watched the way delicate fingers traced porcelain features and once again felt the ache settling in his deep in his chest, a reminder of something that never _was_. Doyoung was _perfect_ , in an odd way. He was naturally curious, determined, and _strong_. Jaehyun could understand why Yuta was enamoured with the man, could understand the reason why his eyes would stayed glued on such a brilliant being. He was easy to pay attention to because he was easy to find captivating. That was what made him so dangerous, though.

Rousing him from his people watching, Taeyong offered him an ice pack with a sad smile, one that reeked of sympathy and condolences. “You shouldn’t keep watching them like that.” Taeyong’s voice was soft, even, offering nothing in the way of an opinion save for the plea of protection and self-preservation.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun agreed, though he was fixated on the pair outside as soon as his fingers grasped the icy bundle, “I should.” 

“Yuta really likes him. I think we found a keeper.” Taeyong admitted, tone speaking of fondness, though colored with something Jaehyun was able to pinpoint quickly.

“He has a scar by his mouth,” Jaehyun said, voice flat as he pressed the ice to the bruise blossoming on his cheek in a dark rose shape. Distantly, he was thankful for Yuta’s lack of rings this morning, “It’s an interesting shape.” 

Taeyong hummed, vaguely sounding not unlike a content cat cooing to itself, “I hadn’t noticed.” 

“How’d he get that scar, Taeyong?” Jaehyun was direct, eyes finally falling on the other man again. Taeyong looked cute, innocent almost, but it was just a reminder that everything unassuming was camouflaged to kill.

“I couldn’t say,” Taeyong danced around the words as though he could avoid them entirely, finger tips rapping on the counter as he guarded his eyes, “You’d need to ask him.” 

“I think you know _exactly_ how he got that scar.” Jaehyun had never let Taeyong play coy, knowing both he and Johnny far too well for the man to be able to skirt around him as he did everyone else. Taeyong never fell for Jaehyun’s sickly sweet charms and Jaehyun never wore the rose colored glasses Taeyong offered.

Taeyong’s gaze was flat as he straightened up again from where he had been curved over the counter, eyes lidded as his mouth worked over the words as though he were chewing on sugar cane, “As I said,” His tone was open, though his words were encrypted, “I think we found a keeper.” 

Doyoung went home shortly after with the promise to return when beckoned like a well trained dog. Yuta had stifled the urge to kiss him when he left, instead letting him leave with a pat on the back and a tease about his limp that left Doyoung a reddened mess. 

Taeyong had disappeared, citing business he had to attend to and stern threats of harsh punishments if he found even a dust bunny out of place because of the two fighting. Now, Yuta found himself perched dejectedly on the couch in the living room, wilted like the flowers Taeyong would throw away after they stopped looking as crisp and beautiful. Jaehyun was in the recliner, looking as though he were in a faded polaroid, merely _there_ , but not quite existing. The two stared at a blank television, the blurry reflection of the room the only thing on screen. 

“You really like him.” Jaehyun commented quietly, voice entirely neutral, though shattering the mirror-like silence. 

“No,” Yuta corrected, voice tired, _so tired_ , “I don’t. I can’t like him and that’s the problem, Jae.”

Jaehyun sighed heavily, body melting into the seat as Yuta looked at him with a bleeding heart and a broken gaze, one that was so familiar in a heart-wrenching way. “It’s dangerous. He’s a weak spot.”

Yuta nodded bitterly, deflated body turning to crystalized shards quickly, “That’s _why_ I don’t like him. Like I said, I _can’t_. Besides,” Yuta huffed, almost childishly, as he crossed his arms, “Taeyong seems to have taken a strange liking to him. I think he wanted a new toy for Johnny.”

Jaehyun snorted, expression relaxed but partial as he worded a long agreed opinion with the weight of an olive branch being extended, “Taeyong’s a strange cookie, but he has good taste.” 

Yuta gave a short laugh and looked back to the black screen again, accepting the peace. “You can say that again.” The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable nor awkward, just lingering on the tips of Yuta’s fingers. A moment later, the silence was filled with muffled rustling as Jaehyun made his way from the chair to the other end of the couch. Yuta felt the couch shift with the weight of a familiar memory and sins from many years catching him at once. There was a nostalgia in this moment, one he wanted to forget, but instead found himself curling into, clinging to it with desperate fingers. 

“Come here.” The words were softer than Yuta expected, cashmere on flushed skin, and _familiar_. Jaehyun must have been having the same thoughts as he. He followed the gentle command easily, letting Jaehyun scoot his legs onto the couch as he crawled between them, folding himself into a body that had become familiar years ago. Settling back against his chest, Yuta could feel Jaehyun’s voice as he spoke, rumbling through both body’s as hollow as dead trees, “I’ll admit, I was sad about you leaving without me last night, but I can see why you did. Doyoung’s a fine catch.” 

“He’s a better fuck than you,” Yuta said, though there was the tinge of a lie trapped between the words, one that tasted bitter on his tongue and sharpened his teeth. 

Jaehyun hummed and vibrated Yuta’s spine, baritone voice falling heavy at the base of his spine, raising every hair on his body in a reminder that the man behind him was a prepared predator, “Are you so sure about that?” 

“Yeah,” Yuta said firmly, though if he were standing, his legs would have given out. 

“Maybe next time you should _show_ me, if you mean that.” Jaehyun’s breath was hot against Yuta’s ear, warming the skin, and once again Yuta realized how _gone_ he was for the man behind him, how much _control_ he had over him. Yuta knew that the reason he was always so angry was because he loved the leash that Jaehyun had tied to the choke collar on his neck. “You know I don’t like just taking someone's word for truth.” 

“Maybe I will.” Yuta agreed, voice cutting out slightly as he attempted to maintain control of himself, “Or maybe I won’t let there be a next time.” 

“Oh, Yuta,” Jaehyun sighed, kissing the back of his head softly, breath flittering through his hair softly, “You’ve always been such a bad liar.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeee!! so, first off; remember how i said projected 50k? yeah, that was a lie lol it's looking like it's going to be closer to a 70k-75k bc we are officially halfway to 50k and i still have SO much i haven't even touched yet, sooooo i am thinking the word count is extending a bit. 
> 
> also, i don't want to throw too many new characters at you guys all at once, but i have a scene planned that i really wanna do next but i will see how it plays out haha
> 
> anyways, i'm hoping to have the next chapter up this weekend<3 
> 
> (I also wanna say i insert my cc and my twt at the end so you have the option to 1. be anonymous if you're shy and 2. so you can see who exactly is writing these fics if you're ever curious! i know i like to look at my favorite authors profiles when they link them, so i figured i would start linking mine too!)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/MidnightSuhn)  
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/MidnightPasses?t=156572385)


	6. Bring Guns to Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My precious oxblood and diamonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! sorry this chapter took so long, i was overwhelmed with school hhhhhh but anyways!! 
> 
> Yuta's character and part of this chapter was inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/markleesonline/status/1251209614051467264/video/1) edit a friend of mine did, so give it a look if you want to know where I really developed his character from.
> 
> this chapters a little /meh/ but it's necessary hhhh so apologies in advance ;-;

Doyoung began to learn that his life would involve quiet intervals, where things were _so_ quiet he almost began to feel forgotten, a bookmark in a novel set back on the shelf to collect dust once again. He supposed that he wasn’t a child to be babysat nor was he an important role, somewhat of a background addition to the gang. He was an _accountant_ of sorts, a number juggler, and he was still building the layers of trust it took to fully be accepted as _one of them_ rather than _the new boy_. It would take _time_. 

He wasn’t complaining.

The days and weeks he was forgotten about were becoming his favorites. He would spend his time as he was supposed to; going to class, visiting friends, working at his internship. He used the time to upkeep his day to day life, the one that wasn’t allowed to crack as it was the only mask he had to protect himself. 

Doyoung liked these weeks, liked the feeling of normalcy that he gained from them. 

_Normal_ was starting to feel like the name of a street drug and Doyoung was starting to think of himself as an addict.

It was a rainy Friday evening when Doyoung’s phone vibrated on his nightstand, a sharp jolt into a reality. The text on his phone was one that made his aura bleak as he read it several times. He had been remembered.

_Nakamoto Yuta [4:33p.m.]: dinner at Taeyong’s, 5:00, be there_

Doyoung felt the tenseness return to his body, having not realized how relaxed he had grown over the week. The knots in his body had dissipated as he had spent the time drinking with friends and overall absorbing every second of freedom he had had. There were many words in between the lines of that text message; the non-optional and non-negotiable tone of the simple words, the strict time-frame that was borderline a threat, the reminder of the chain around his ankle tethered to a house in the suburbs. There was a job to be done today and he was being summoned.

When he made it to Taeyong’s it was 5:03p.m. and the door swung open to reveal a glowering Yuta on the other side. He was dressed strangely today, outfit entirely black and layered. Doyoung could see the oversized shirt he wore was over top of another one and as he breathed the imprint of something like a belt was harnessed around his waist, but hidden beneath the flowy fabric. His expression was darker than the storm clouds outside, steel grey contacts making him look eerier than ever. Yuta once again reminded Doyoung of a sheathed knife, one used for things like bloodletting and sacrificing virgins. “You’re late.” 

“Sorry,” Doyoung said awkwardly, shaking his umbrella of the excess raindrops as he stood protected on the porch, “People were driving really slow because of the rain.” 

Yuta didn’t reply, turning on his heel and disappearing inside, heavy boots thumping as he went. Doyoung sighed as he finished folding his umbrella, every cell of his body begging him to go home and heat up some leftover soup and watch reruns of his favorite drama instead. Doyoung regretfully ignored his instincts and headed into the gaping mouth of the warm house.

Inside the house was buzzing with activity, surprising Doyoung as he had never been there with more than three people present. He had almost grown convinced that the others may not have even known where Taeyong’s house was located, considering the complete lack of life every time Doyoung had been there.

Taeyong was talking quickly and flatly, his tone irritated and punctuated with footsteps that made Doyoung believe he was pacing, though Doyoung was unable to make out a word of what he was saying. There were several other voices, quieter, mumbling over one another like bickering birds snapping at each other over the last worm. Doyoung slid his shoes off and set his umbrella by the door, making his way into the kitchen as curiosity overpowered the desperation to leave. Curiosity truly was a killer. 

It seemed as though the L shaped kitchen was _the_ gathering spot for every person who entered Taeyong’s home, because when he entered the pastel themed kitchen, there was a small crowd of people sitting around the granite countertops, some foreign and some familiar. 

Jaemin was there, all pink hair and pastel sweater, hunched in a manner that seemed unbefitting of his typically confident personality. The other unbefitting and noticeable trait was the bruise decorating the right side of his face paired with the split lip that looked fresh despite the scab, a smudge of blood having not yet been cleaned away on his chin. “Hey, Doyoung,” Jaemin seemed to try and smile, but winced at the tenderness of his mouth. The feeling left Doyoung’s body as he analyzed the boy. 

The next face Doyoung found familiar was Donghyuck; curly silver hair matted on the side in a dark clump from what looked like a small laceration on his scalp, mild bruises decorating the candied tone of his skin, sweatshirt ruined with several splatterings of what Doyoung assumed to be his own blood. He offered a tight-lipped expression, one doing nothing to cover his frustration. Doyoung got the feeling that Donghyuck _loathed_ weakness and wasn’t used to losing. 

The man sat next to him was unfamiliar entirely, small bodied and _handsome_ in a sweet kind of way and swaddled in soft looking neutral toned clothes. He looked almost completely unmarked, save for the redness on his neck that Doyoung assumed would bruise eventually, and he felt somewhat sick knowing that someone would be able to lay their hands on a person as sweet looking as him. His large and dark eyes were framed in ballerina-esque features, elegant and pretty at a complete inverse to the profanities he was cursing to the man next to him, who was almost inconceivably familiar to Doyoung. 

“ _Jeno_?” The suddenness of the voice from his childhood snapped the boys head up instantly, eyes wide as they landed on Doyoung. At the confirmation of the boys identity, Doyoung felt lightheaded, almost as though he was walking in a dream, one that he was unable to escape from, stuck living through the worst parts. “What are you doing here?” 

Doyoung stormed over, shoving past Yuta and Taeyong, rounding the counter as the room was suddenly far too quiet. The air tasted like metal as Doyoung moved, his body feeling less and less like his own the closer he got. He didn’t make it to Jeno, though, the smaller, prettier man who was sat next to him planting himself between the two firmly. He was short, so much shorter than Doyoung, but he stood between the two with the resilience of a brick wall. Doyoung didn’t know _who_ this kid was, but he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to be able to skirt around the boy without problems creeping up. “Who the fuck are you?” 

Doyoung had practically skidded to a halt when the boy stepped up, though his eyes only finally moved from Jeno when the boy had spoken, “I should be asking _you_ that.”

“Doyoung,” Jeno spoke cautiously, eyes wide and set in strong features, as he seemed to calculate his best options, “Doyoung, that’s Renjun. I’ve told you about him before.”

“You told me you met him at dance practice, I-” Doyoung shuddered, mind reeling with the stories Jeno had told him. Jeno _had_ told Doyoung about him before, told him the time that he had been invited to a sleepover with a guy he met at the dance club. Doyoung remembered the stories Jeno had told of the two studying together, the times they had gone for coffee, the times they’d spent the nights together. Renjun wasn’t a _gang_ member, he was a chess club kid with a birthmark on his hand that Jeno had talked one too many times about. 

Doyoung seemed to process everything too slowly because when he looked back to Jeno, his shoulders slumped as he acknowledged his state. There was a gash above his eyes brow bleeding down over his cheekbone and mole, smudges of blood from where he had previously wiped it decorating his skin. He looked stressed, more stressed than Doyoung had ever seen him, and _older_ , so much older. Jeno was barely an adult but something about him in that moment looked far more tired than Doyoung thought he would ever have seen. Jeno set a gentle hand on Renjun’s shoulder, the other still glaring strongly upwards to Doyoung in a way Doyoung could only read as _protective_. Jeno gently applied pressure and tugged Renjun back to his seat as Doyoung finally found his tongue again, “What happened to you?” 

“So you two know each other?” Yuta’s tone was flat as he addressed the situation, finally intervening. Doyoung turned to look at him, look at the foreboding shadow hovering just a little too far to be natural. 

“Yeah,” Doyoung’s words were more air than voice, hand coming up to rub his face roughly as he spoke, something that wasn’t quite anger but had no other name seeping through his words and making them far heavier than necessary, settling in the room like tar, “Yeah, that’s my little cousin.”

Doyoung’s eye caught Taeyong’s who was chewing on his thumb nail, expression unreadable, though not surprised. There was something in his eyes, something that read more like interest than concern and the feeling of his gaze was too much like a cat watching a mouse for Doyoung to feel comfortable. It was Yuta who spoke again, voice irritated and cold, “Well, figure out your familial problems later. Jaehyun should almost be here. As you can see, we had an _issue_.”

Doyoung finally looked to Yuta again, the man looking unimpressed and skeptical, “So you called me here to help you fix it?” 

Yuta laughed, tone bitter and sharp in a way that felt like he was dropping a rain soaked rug over him, “Fuck no, you’d be useless and probably in the way. I brought you here to babysit.” Yuta made a jerking motion with his chin to the boys seated around the island much to their scowls, “This ones for the adults.” 

Doyoung wanted to argue but the slamming of the front door broke the staring match he and Yuta had begun. Jaehyun sauntered in, casual as ever in a way Doyoung was beginning to associate with the man. Jaehyun had bold prince features laced with something far softer than expected and a smile that bloomed something wicked in even the most pure. Doyoung had begun to think of him as the snake in Eden, tempting sin in the most appealingly angelic way. Today he looked no more dressed than the first times Doyoung had met him, a black tee shirt tucked into jeans and thin layered necklaces decorating his chest and a velvet blazer tossed over his arm that was littered with rain drops. He regarded everyone in the room with passive eyes, but a stare that last for a moment too long on Doyoung himself that made Doyoung look at his necklace rather than his eyes, “Doyoung,” Doyoung didn’t know how to feel about Jaehyun speaking his name in the tone he had, but it brought an unexpected warmth to his neck, “Good to see you again.”

Once again the room was tense with a static almost palpable against his skin and Doyoung swallowed the gravel in his throat, but the static was dissipated when Donghyuck spoke, saving Doyoung from asphyxiating in his own emotions, “Nice of you to finally show up.”

“Sorry, Hyuckie, I was a bit busy.” Jaehyun’s tone was mild as ever, arms crossed as he addressed the quartet of bruised boys clumped together, still standing in the kitchen rather than crowding the counter any further, “Anyone care to tell me what happened?” 

Jaemin spoke up with a voice slightly dry and lacking the sparkle that usually lilted his words into something too light for normal conversation, “There were more than we expected. We didn’t plan for it to go south but I guess they never planned for it to go _right_. I should’ve realized it was a set up.” Doyoung was finding himself missing the sparkle despite having only interacted with the younger man once and with a brief assessment of Jaehyun, he concluded the elder thought the same.

“And the drop?” If Jaehyun was upset, his tone didn’t expose him. Doyoung was beginning to understand that Jaehyun was an expert at concealing his emotions and remaining almost alarmingly placid regardless of the situation. Doyoung wondered if he had any setting besides flirtatious or completely indifferent and he wondered how to see the invisible ink on the playing card in front of him. 

“Successful.” Haechan replied, though there lacked the mirth of a typical confirmation. Doyoung knew that the word _successful_ shouldn’t sound so mournful. 

“And the payment?” There was a silence, full of nothing but the sound of shuffling feet and desperately tired minds whirring endlessly for an escape from the question that highlighted their failures. “The payment?” Jaehyun repeated once it was clear the room was going to allow the question to hang in the air, unanswered and untouched.

“Unsuccessful.” It was Jeno, this time, flat and deep. Doyoung couldn’t remember ever having heard him sound like that before, the closest being to the time he lost the science fair he had been certain he would win and lost the tickets to the astronomy show to some girl named Madeline. Doyoung could almost taste the horribly bitter flavor of baking soda, the taste of disappointment and _shame_.

Jaehyun made a sound in his throat, melodic and warm despite the news, “Seems like they got the better of you.” Haechan was the only one to show a response, a physical flinch at the words, as though Jaehyun had slapped him. Doyoung wondered if Jaehyun had ever been physical with them, but the idea passed quickly as he began to recognize the look in Jaehyun’s eyes not as anger but _disappointment_. The disappointment didn’t seem to be directed at the boys though, something internal, something deep rooted, as he played with his chin, “Oh well, I guess we all can’t be perfect all of the time. This does, however, mean they have stolen from me directly and I’m none too pleased.” Jaehyun was thumbing his lip as he eyed the group, “It also appears they damaged my runners a bit. That makes it harder to do business. No one wants to trust a group that _looks_ like thugs, especially not teenage rebels. This is a problem.” 

“We’re going to fix it.” Yuta’s tone wasn’t unlike the knife the Doyoung knew he carried, the one that seemed to appear and disappear constantly, the one that practically materialized out of his body as though it were nothing more than an extension of him, “Jaemin’s going to take us there and you, me, and Taeyong are going to have a nice visit with the neighbors.” 

_The neighbors_. Doyoung knew that Empathy wasn’t the only underground ring in Neo City, though he never assumed that any other gangs would be brazen enough to challenge Taeyong in such a direct manner. He supposed that stupidity and bravery were a double sided candle and some people burned it from both ends. “I want to come with,” Doyoung spoke suddenly, having been forgotten about despite being in the center of the crowd, a somewhat familiar feeling, “Let me come with.” 

“ _No_ ,” Yuta repeated, snake eyes pinning him in the corner, the steely color pressing against his throat like a blade, “You’re staying here with the Dreamies. You’re going to patch them up and you’re going to sit here like a good boy and mind your business.”

Doyoung spluttered momentarily, words escaping him in response to the patronizing tone Yuta had used, his hands fumbling against his thighs as he attempted to steady himself. He was acutely aware of the crowd watching them, Taeyong studying his response with a keen interest. Doyoung knew there was something rattling through Taeyong’s mind as he watched this unfold, but Doyoung was unwilling to pay him any mind. Finally, the words he wanted to speak came to him and he bit out, “How insulting is that? I’m not a fucking _dog_ , you can’t tell me to sit and stay and expect me to follow commands.” 

“Heel.” Was Yuta’s only response, drawing blood.

Doyoung was a breath away from smacking him, body already preparing for the fight that he _would_ lose. Before Doyoung could make his move, Jaehyun was sliding casually between the two like a bucket of ice water, having came over unnoticed as the tension between the two rose. “I think we shouldn’t waste time arguing. The more bodies, the better. We can always call Jungwoo over to hang out with the Dreamies.”

Yuta turned on his toes and stormed out of the kitchen, not a word more spoken from his whiplike tongue. His disappearance left a muggy awkwardness in the air as Taeyong pinched the bridge of his nose, having gone from curious to frustrated the second Yuta grew pissy, and counted down from a number indiscernible to the group. Jaehyun gave Doyoung a reassuringly kind smile, dimples sinking in his cheeks, but the lack of whiskers under his eyes led Doyoung to wonder how sincere it was. Still, he returned it with a tight lipped smile of his own.

When Taeyong looked stable enough he dropped his hands, looking as though he were much less frustrated and far more determined, “We don’t have time for this. I’ll text Jungwoo on the way. Boys, basement until he gets here. Jaemin, let’s go.”

The car ride was as tense as the kitchen had been, hot breath fogging the windows that were pelted with a rain that no longer fell in sheets but rather a fine mist. Taeyong was driving them to the spot where Minho would pick them up, the radio on a station playing classic songs Doyoung found himself wanting to relax to. Yuta was riding shotgun and playing with his knife, the tip digging into his fingers, the blade occasionally grazing his palms. Doyoung wondered how he hadn’t cut open his fingertips with the ways he played with them, but that brought on the memories of said fingertips on the delicate skin of Doyoung’s body and the memory of the feeling of callouses and scars against heated skin. Maybe Yuta _had_ cut open his fingertips before, maybe he had done so enough times that he no longer feared the blade and its sting.

Jaehyun was sat against the window, spread out comfortably, looking unusually relaxed in such a situation. Doyoung was learning slowly that whether or not it was genuine, no matter where he was, Jaehyun always looked as comfortable and relaxed as he would in his own home. He had to have triggers, Doyoung knew, and it seemed that Yuta was the only one that had the key. Jaemin looked mournful sitting in the middle seat, separating Jaehyun from Doyoung, eyes downcast and expression pained. Doyoung couldn’t tell if the pain was from the beating or from the weight of knowing he hadn’t completed his run properly. Doyoung almost felt guilty with the way Jaemin was frowning, but he tucked away the knowledge that disappointing Jaehyun was devastating for the younger members as something to press at later.

“So, the Dreamies?” Doyoung finally asked quietly, catching Jaemin and Jaehyun’s attention, his voice gentle and reassuring in hopes of drawing the younger out of his greyness. Doyoung could see the way Yuta responded to hearing his voice, though neither looked at each other, simply both shifting their bodies in acknowledgement of the others existence without intending to. “What does that mean?”

Jaemin shrugged and fell back into the seat, body finally losing some of the tension that had plagued him since sitting in the vehicle. “We’re just the younger members. We’re the runners, errand boys really. Not full fledged members but we get perks, like getting paid. So you’re really Jeno’s cousin?”

Doyoung flinched and nodded awkwardly, having tried to forget about the sight of the boy he had helped raise smudged in crimson and looking defeated in the kitchen Doyoung had come to associate with the strongest emotions, “That’s my baby cousin. I never thought he would end up here.” 

“He probably thought the same about you.” Jaemin pointed out, tone light and carrying the tinge of the lilt Doyoung had recognized as _his_. His voice was an odd one, Doyoung thought, mixed somewhere between deep and nasally, but he was kind and genuinely so. Doyoung had a lot of good opinions of Jaemin despite only having just met him. He hoped he never became a full-fledged member, hoped that he found a better path in life and used his potential to do something so much better. There was a brief thought of Yuta, of the Yuta that Doyoung wanted, of everything he imagined _could_ have been. How he had become so nostalgic for someone he had only known a handful of weeks, Doyoung couldn’t place, but the awful gunpowder taste left him flinching from the thought.

“Yeah,” Doyoung agreed, slightly more distant than a car ride could handle, something weighted equivalent to a sorrowful wist, “He probably did. I guess it’s just not what you expect of anyone.”

Doyoung didn’t meet Yuta’s eyes in the rearview mirror, but he knew the steel grey color was on him again, molten and begging for his thoughts. Doyoung kept himself silent the rest of the ride.

The transition from Taeyong’s car to the Cadillac was smooth and quick, rain drops ensuring the speed at which they moved. After that the ride was less awkward with the introduction of another person, as though the rain and company had created a fully new atmosphere for them to be lost in. Yuta and Minho made small talk in the front seats, effectively shutting out the chances for straining silence. Taeyong had squeezed between Jaemin and Jaehyun, shoulders too broad for such a tight space and leaving Jaemin half laying on Doyoung with an apologetic but not unkind half smile. Doyoung was beginning to like Jaemin in a strange way. He found himself easily attracted to the boy, his sincerity feeling not unlike that of a hearth. Doyoung remembered the idea he had had of the people involved in such businesses as organized crime. He had a distinct image painted for him by the general media of the stereotypical thug with tattoos and no place in society, hiding in the shadows because nowhere else had accepted them. The strange part, Doyoung was noticing, was the fact that a majority of the people Taeyong had recruited had had many of options outside of this lifestyle, many capabilities and problem prospects. He didn’t find that to be a coincidence. 

He still had yet to figure out how Taeyong himself had fallen into this life, whether it was intentional and nagging curiosity or born from desperation and helplessness. Doyoung had yet to discover who Taeyong was outside of the man who had built an empire in less than two decades. Doyoung found himself far more invested in the story he was researching than he expected, having fallen into a perplexing puzzle with no reference photo and no edges. 

Doyoung was roused from his raindrop thoughts when the car slowed to a stop in the nearly empty parking lot of a faded strip mall. When the tires hit the lot, Jaemin gave a few mumbled directions, looking none too eager to have arrived so soon. The building they stopped in front of looked nothing like Doyoung had expected it to. It was a small brick building nestled in between a sports shop and a clothing store, the sign reading it to be something like a postal store with the open sign shut off. The windows were small and blacked out with heavy blinds and it looked so unused Doyoung almost asked Jaemin if he was sure this was the spot.

No one else seemed to have the same second guesses as Doyoung, though, the car suddenly alive with shuffles as those heading inside prepared both for the building and the heavy droplets that had begun to soak the earth in a heavy fall again. Jaehyun slid on his velvet coat, bumping into Taeyong as he did so, earning some grumbling banter. 

Doyoung wasn’t able to pay attention to the bickering though, as Yuta twisted in his seat to stare at Doyoung, speaking to him for the first time since the kitchen. His tone was no longer vicious, moreso the same firm one Doyoung was beginning to associate with _Utah_ and not _Yuta_. “Hey, Tokki?” 

“Yeah?” Doyoung’s throat was constricted when he replied, the pressure of the steel far too much for the weight capacity of his chest.

“Don’t get yourself killed.” Yuta answered, passing his knife back to him, handle first.

Doyoung took it with shaking fingers, the weight of the blade completely foreign and uncomfortable in his grasp. He glanced at it for a second, studying it with an avid fascination. The blade was silver and shined with years of precious care- Doyoung knew it was well used, though the metal gleamed as though it had never left the showcase. The handle was heavy, a dark maroon color, with precious gems set inside of the darkness like glittering stars breaking the dawn sky. It looked as though it was possibly resin coated wood with black etchings of calligraphy in between gems. Doyoung couldn’t read much Japanese, but one phrase of Kanja was familiar to him: _precious_. 

“ _My precious oxblood and diamonds_ ,” Yuta said to him, having read the moment of silence that encapsulated Doyoung with the ease of someone who might as well have known him for life already, “It’s not the literal translation, but it’s the closest that I can give. It’s from an old story my mother used to tell me. It means the riches that come from darkness.”

Doyoung was able to look at Yuta again and not for the first time it felt as though he were peeling away yet another layer to the man. Taeyong made a noise, shattering the illusion of privacy the two had created, leaning over Jaehyun to prop his door open, “Get out and get done.”

When Doyoung’s feet hit the asphalt, he tucked the blade into the sleeve of his dark green sweatshirt, the metal pressing against the thin skin of his wrist and cyphoned the heat from his bloodstream. Doyoung shivered from the sensation of the blade combined with the ceaseless rain. Jaemin bobbed out after him, looking as though he had summoned the rain himself. Taeyong, the same as last time, remained in the car, a subtle reminder that he was there to knot the loose ends so should anyone fail. Taeyong was always there, always had three back up plans, and never left anything unfinished. Taeyong was preemptive and perhaps that was why he had been so successful. Doyoung was unsure, but there was a part of him dedicated to unravelling the knotted chain that was Taeyong.

The sign hanging on the door said the business was temporarily closed until further notice and written in half dead sharpie ink. It was useless, though, because Yuta barely glanced at it as he picked a pin from his ponytail. Within seconds of nearly silent picking, the door lock clicked open and he was able to press it open with a mildly self-satisfied expression. A seed of doubt was planted within Doyoung when they entered the store. Inside was dark, suggesting it truly was closed, the room looking as though the business had closed one night and just never reopened. It was set up in the way that Doyoung had seen any other delivery service office: several circular stands of post cards and knick-knacks littering the center, walls of boxes and wrapping paper and tape and containers all stacked neatly and orderly. The decor was white with grey and blue, as boring and dull as every other boxing business. It looked like there should be a khaki-clad and dead-eyed employee standing behind the counter with a placid smile and hollow greeting. There was no bell, however, when the door opened and there was no employees to be seen. 

The doubt that Doyoung had begun to grow was quickly trampled when the sound of voices finally registered in his mind over the sound of the outdoors and the scent of orange scented cleanser. The room was small and the counter was backed by a flat wall with a door reading _employees only_ and it was from there that the sound of speaking was heard and slowly Doyoung’s eyes adjusted to be able to see the light filtering through the seams of the shut door. There were people in there, ones that neither wanted to be found nor cared if they were. 

Jaemin was behind Yuta next to Doyoung, standing rather close to the older man, arm brushing his occasionally. There was a second where Doyoung wondered if Jaemin was seeking protection or offering it. Either way, Doyoung knew that he wasn’t the most intimidating figure in the room, but if it came down to any form of violence he was certain to keep Jaemin as far from it as possible, the blade heavy in his sleeve as a reminder. Yuta was the threat of the group, though, the man ever glowing with a toxic air of _aggression_ and he stood between them and the rest of the room almost as though he were a shield. It was strange, Doyoung thought, how Yuta could shift personas as quickly as they shifted settings. 

There was a second where the group stood silently in the entrance as the door shut behind them without the audible click he was accustomed and Doyoung speculated for a second on whether they were planning on sneaking into the room behind the counter, the discussion of a plan not having been broached. It surprised him, though, when Jaehyun spoke, into the silence, “Alright, why don’t you come on out now? You can only watch behind the surveillance cameras for so long. It’s no fun being alone out here.” His voice wasn’t loud and it wasn’t threatening, if anything it was jovial in a disconcerting way. 

The noise from the room stopped and Doyoung counted himself breathing six times before the door opened and filled the room with yellowish light. Standing there was a small group of people, looking strangely apprehensive to exit into the room. Doyoung frowned, eyebrows creasing as he watched their bodies shifting. Surely they had expected their arrival. 

“There you lot are.” Jaehyun’s tone was still just as light as he walked over to one of the walls of tape, body swaying in a confident swagger that didn’t ring too cocky in a way Doyoung had pinned to be unique to Jaehyun. He planted himself comfortably against the boxing station, looking pleased as a cat as he watched the group. The bodies shuffled from the room without distinct confidence nor fear, two making it to the wall to be equal with Jaehyun, and one standing at the edge of the counter facing Jaehyun, the last two behind the counter still. Doyoung was able to make out the features of the people now, eyes having finally adjusted to the light, and once again he found himself staring at unusually average people. Jaehyun crossed his arms and cocked his head in a way that felt almost as though he were appraising a child’s art piece, “I believe you have something of mine.”

“No,” The woman who responded had long blonde hair and pinched features, looking not unlike a preschool mother, “I don’t think we do.” 

“I don’t really like liars,” Jaehyun admitted with a faux tinge of regret woven through his words, thumb gracing his chin in a habit that Doyoung had begun to associate with his thoughtfulness, “NaNa, these were the thugs, right?” 

Jaemin, who still stood too close to Doyoung, nodded as his pink hair flopped in the greyness, “Yeah, the guy on the wall was the one that hit RD first.”

Yuta bristled beside Doyoung, the air practically prickling with his animosity, and he moved to the center of the room, stalking in a slow circle that reminded Doyoung of a predator once again. Yuta moved like someone who loved the hunt, loved the thrill, loved the taste of blood, and especially the final kill. Doyoung was reminded once again that Yuta was _fatal_. “I don’t like people who hit kids.” Yuta’s tone was rougher than normal, seeping from somewhere deep in his chest, and it sent chills through Doyoung as he gripped the blade tighter. 

“Is this how you treat your suppliers?” Jaehyun asked, glancing at his nails disinterestedly before eyeing the room, “I provide good quality products, fair prices, and easy delivery services. I’m discreet and always flawless in my executions. Was that not enough for you?” 

“Why buy from you when we could be the source?” Doyoung blinked owlishly at the thin man that had spoken from behind the counter. It was an odd response, one that sounded rehearsed and forced, a trained response spat out in the moment on instinct alone. Everything about the way they had approached this situation felt _robotic_ as though they had had clear instructions on placements and wording and the ways at which they were to handle the situation. It felt _unnatural_.

“What a strange reply,” Doyoung answered, the attention turning to him and Jaemin in a way that made the younger visibly nervous, “You can’t possibly think your group is big enough to have any kind of leverage in this. There’s no way you are able to function at a level that’s able to undermine _us_.” Doyoung felt strange speaking from the perspective of someone _inside_ the group, the inclusion feeling foreign on his tongue, though he hoped it wasn’t portrayed in his tone. 

“Who asked for your opinion?” The man by the counter was the one to respond, pulling a knife from his belt and pointing it to Doyoung, “Watch your tongue before I cut it out.”

The scene in front of Doyoung moved faster than he could process, Yuta moving with an ingrained reaction to a threat with such swiftness that Doyoung knew he would never achieve. Yuta’s hand swept behind him and whipped the gun from the belt around his waist that Doyoung had been able to see on the porch, before Doyoung could blink. The cocking of the chamber thunder loud in the room that fell deathly silent. “You better take that threat back _now_. I don’t bring knives to fights, _boy_.”

There was a moment where Doyoung wondered if Yuta would take the shot, body perfectly angled to end the man standing in front of him. Jaehyun was eyeing the two, the only movement being his thumb running circles, his expression oddly halcyon for the scene in front of him. Jaehyun was completely unreadable in the opposite way as Yuta, one a canvas covered in a sheet and the other an ever shifting shape with no definite form. Doyoung’s eye caught onto that of the woman standing behind the counter next to the skinny man, surprised as he found her already staring at him. She looked strangely bemused, head tilting as she seemed to assess the situation with eyes far too knowledgeable for what made Doyoung comfortable.

“Alright,” The woman spoke, finally blinking back to Yuta, “I would like to sincerely apologize for this miscommunication. One of the runners grew a little mouthy during the trade and things escalated. It was never our intentions to steal from you, but after the little tussels broke up it was impossible to offer payment. Allow me to make it right.”

Jaehyun’s attention was barely spared to the woman, Yuta’s entirely focused on the man still staring him down. Instead, Jaehyun glanced to Doyoung, a coy smile tilting his lips and sinking his dimples, “Well, Tokki, what do you think?” 

“Me?” Doyoung asked, his body automatically preparing for a quick exit with the eyes of too many strangers and one overwhelming man landing on him, “Why me?” 

“Our little analytical bunny has to have some opinions. Do you think they’re lying?” Jaehyun’s tone was so friendly, so undisturbed, Doyoung could almost swear he was chatting about his new shoes. Doyoung glanced back to the woman, her expression not having changed despite the moment they were in. She was studying him, he knew, watching as the newcomer fell into his niche. Doyoung couldn’t pick up the traces of a lie, though there was definitely something _off_ about the woman’s observations of Doyoung and the way the others in the room had reacted. She had gone off script, Doyoung noticed, her reply not what the others had expected. She had found _something_ that made deescalation worth her time.

“I don’t think they’re lying.” Doyoung finally admitted, feeling Jaemin shifting next to him. The youngers fingertips played with the hem of Doyoung’s sleeve, tugging at his heartstrings pathetically.

There was another pause and Doyoung wondered if Yuta was still set on heading home short a bullet or two, before Yuta clicked the safety back and dropped his arm. Doyoung felt the breath he was unconsciously holding slip through his teeth as Yuta bared his own at the man, “I suggest you put that knife away.”

The man didn’t miss a beat, sliding the knife back where it had come from. 

Doyoung could only watch as the blonde woman personally offered Jaehyun a floral backpack. Jaehyun took it with a polite smile, sauntering back to Jaemin to have the boy open it for confirmation and complete his run. Yuta was still squared with the man and it seemed as though the blonde woman had noticed it as well. Yuta only broke away when Jaehyun had opened the door and let Jaemin free. Doyoung had turned to leave but paused upon realizing Yuta had not yet followed. “Utah,” Doyoung called, “Come on. It’s done.”

“Yes, Utah,” The blonde said softly, smile as sickly sweet as Jaehyun’s had been, “It’s over.”

The ride back to Taeyong’s was quiet in a way that made Doyoung continually shift in his seat, annoying Jaemin far more than he let on. Jaemin had spent years getting used to the uncomfortable car rides with a silently fuming Jaehyun and a pissed off Yuta. Doyoung would grow accustomed eventually. It was Doyoung in the center, crowded next to Jaemin in the seatbelt this time, hands tucked between bouncing knees. 

Jaemin was a patient boy though, one who's congenial smile wasn’t ever faked and the tone he spoke in was as kind to adults as it was to children, “Tokki, please stop fidgeting. You keep bumping my bruises.”

“Sorry,” Doyoung rushed, hand falling gently on Jaemin’s knee in an affectionate apology, “I don’t mean to- I just can’t stop thinking.”

“Yeah, you do that a lot.” Jaemin noted politely but Doyoung still seemed troubled, gnawing at the inside of his lip in a way Jaemin had noticed meant he was feeling _stressed_. He had noticed it after the heist and in the kitchen as well. 

“No, no, there was just something strange about that.” Doyoung looked anxious in a way Jaemin wasn’t familiar. Doyoung had settled into the lifestyle rather quickly, something Jaemin had been attempting for years and never having fully achieved. He wondered what could have the inquisitive man so rattled as to being so malcontent. “I can’t figure it out, but that woman just- I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” Yuta asked finally, seated on the other side of Doyoung and pressed against the door. Taeyong had acquired the front seat, leaving the lot to shove into the back despite Yuta’s horrible manspreading and Jaehyun’s inability to share a space.

“I mean she didn’t act like a _normal_ person would. That whole thing felt- I don’t know, weird? The other people in there seemed to be acting on autopilot. It wasn’t unplanned, is what I’m saying, but they _did_ seem surprised when she gave you your package. It was like there was a script that she didn’t follow, but I can’t figure out what changed.”

“How do you even pick up on these things?” Jaemin asked, eyeing the man. He was such an anomaly and Jaemin found himself gravitating towards him naturally through curiosity. It made sense as to why Yuta and Taeyong had become so interested in the man, it made sense as to why he could see Jaehyun’s attention slowly drifting towards him, too. Doyoung was a completely different type of person, the unexpected and underestimated kind. 

“I studied sociology to go along with my journalism. I wanted most of my journalism work to be about people and the different societies they live in. I didn’t think it would come in handy here, but- her behaviorism is just _wrong_. They didn’t talk like _people_ , they talked like _scripts_. There wasn’t a personal touch to their grammar. It was kind of generic. Then when the woman was talking it just felt like she was saying what we wanted to hear, almost impersonal. I just- I don’t know what it means but this whole thing was _weird_. I don’t think they intended for us to leave there alive, but something changed for the woman.”

“Of course it was a trap,” Taeyong sang from the front seat, feet kicked up to the dash as he hummed to a song playing quietly on the radio, one Jaemin didn’t recognize, “That’s why I sent Utah and Valentine. Simply put, violence was on the menu tonight. But I agree, Tokki, it’s awfully strange that there wasn’t a single drop of blood spilled.”

Doyoung and Taeyong were staring at each other through the rearview mirror, but Jaemin only looked to Jaehyun. The elder was staring at the back of Taeyong’s seat, expression completely blank as his mind was processing. Jaemin could practically see the gears and black smoke as the factory kicked up. Jaemin was ever curious as to what was shifting through Jaehyun’s mind, but there wasn’t a chance of him sharing it, the man almost concerningly private.

“Interesting.” Jaehyun finally said, words escaping towards no one in particular, but Jaemin could see the smile growing on Taeyong’s face. 

“Yeah,” Taeyong finally agreed, “Very interesting. Our Tokki truly is observant. A wonderful addition.”

Doyoung didn’t stay when they arrived back to Taeyong’s house. Yuta had asked if Doyoung wanted to stay and celebrate, but the man apologized politely and cited the fact that tomorrow he had a test he needed to be well rested for. Jaehyun couldn’t tell if it was a lie or not, but the man disappeared into the rain without further explanation, leaving Yuta slightly downcast. 

The Dreamies had made their way out into the living room upon their arrival, Jungwoo trailing them like a doting mother hen, and Jaehyun supposed in some ways he was. Jungwoo had taken an odd liking to the Dreamies, the man young enough to still feel comfortable to the younger members but old enough to also be a guiding hand. Strange, Jaehyun had always thought, that a pimp would be so fit for the role of babysitter.

Jungwoo was sat on the couch now, entangled with Jaemin as the younger recounted the events to the others. Haechan seemed disappointed that no one died or lost any limbs, but otherwise there was a familiarly odd feeling settling amongst the group as they came to the same conclusion Doyoung had. Jaemin had been glancing to Jaehyun consistently through the storytelling, looking as though he were searching for comfort or validation or confirmation of his anger.

Jaehyun wasn’t mad in the traditional sense. Jaehyun didn’t _like_ when the Dreamies failed on runs, but he _hated_ when one of them was injured in the process. At the end of the day, the Dreamies were teens that needed to make some extra cash and for one reason or another weren’t able to find stability in a normal job. Jaehyun had no intentions of keeping them around once they were able to form steady lives and had no intentions on letting them into the dangerous parts of the job. That’s why they were errand boys. They made deliveries, they took numbers, they made payments, scouted safe spots. There wasn’t ever supposed to be any true _danger_ in the jobs he assigned to them. When Jaehyun had learned of Jaemin’s involvement in the heist it had led to hours of conversation with Taeyong, followed by arctic silence for three days until the leader apologized. They were never supposed to be put in the line of danger, whether from rivals or civilians or cops- they were supposed to stay _clean_.

Jaehyun couldn’t find it in himself to ever grow frustrated with them when they failed, rather he found himself stuck in a loop of self-loathing for allowing one of them to be in the position to.

“Jaehyun, you should have killed them.” Jungwoo pouted, voice pathetically whiney against Jaemin’s pink fluffed hair freshly washed and soft looking, “They hurt our babies.” Jungwoo was another whole experience in himself. He was unpredictable in the strangest ways. His features were entirely too soft to be threatening, though his height broke Jaehyun’s and his bloodlust was easily triggered. He was dainty on most days and purely elegant when he was Rose, but ruthless when angered. He was fiercely protective of his workers and mind numbingly fretful over the Dreamies, but all in all he was still a goofball wrapped in something almost _cute_. If there was anyone that Jaehyun thought to be fascinating here, it was Jungwoo. 

“Doyoung was right, though,” Jaehyun admitted, letting himself slide into his recliner. Yuta had disappeared to his own room after Doyoung’s departure and truly, without his presence, there weren't many reasons for Jaehyun to stay. Jaehyun would entertain the lot for a moment, though, seeing as he hadn’t spent time with Jungwoo nor the Dreamies in a while. “Something felt _off_ about everything. I think it’s time to sit and analyze exactly what’s going on. I feel like somewhere along the line we have been a little too lenient, maybe even sloppy. I think Vision should be our next step.”

Jungwoo snorted, patting Jaemin’s hair down as the younger practically preened under the attention. Jaemin was quiet in an unexpected way, almost introverted, though skinship was never lost on him. It was Haechan, though, who spoke from his spot on the couch where he had half flopped over onto a disapproving but accepting Renjun, “I think we should make a statement.”

“I think that would be stupid,” Jeno countered after a beat, tone thoughtful as he stared at the rug in front of Jaemin and Jungwoo, “If we don’t know what’s going on a big movement could cause chaos.” 

“I think that’s not any of _your_ concern, boys.” Jaehyun intervened with a tone that might as well have been the off-switch to the power grid, “Leave the thinking and the ideas and the plotting to the _adults_.”

“I’m not a child.” Renjun’s voice snapped at the end like the tail of a whip and Jaehyun was never unimpressed in the fire that Renjun always lit.

Despite that, Jaehyun was tired and looking at the bruises on the boys only made him feel the exhaustion to his bones. “No, but you’re not involved in this. None of you are. I think it’s time to retire you for a bit. It’s getting a little messy with too many hands where they don’t belong.” There was a protest beginning but Jaehyun waved them off immediately, silencing them with a small hand movement and low noise. “You’ll all be paid as normal and contacted when it’s safe. I’m not willing to put your safety at risk to be lazy.”

The room was silent after that, Jungwoo still petting Jaemin, arms held tightly around the boy. Jaehyun knew that Jaemin had been scared today- not from the thugs, but from Jaehyun himself. He had seen the downcast look, the heavy shoulders, the wet eyes when Jaehyun had arrived, when they had explained their failed drop. There was a desperation for his approval that Jaehyun had been ignoring for a long while now. There was an attachment there, one that spoke of them seeking him out later in life and joining Empathy as full fledged members. 

And that was terrifying to Jaehyun. 

Doyoung’s drive home was rather easy, quiet and uneventful. The radio was off, but he didn’t notice, the rain keeping him company and his thoughts too loud for music to be heard anyways. It was when he arrived home, however, to find his mother outside under the awning of their apartment building talking animatedly to two uniformed police officers that Doyoung felt as though he were going to throw up. His first instinct was to _run_. If he didn’t stop the car, didn’t get out, and instead continued driving casually he could make it back to Taeyong’s just before he broke down.

That would be a dreadful mistake, though.

Doyoung would be leading the cops straight to the den and he wasn’t stupid enough to not know the dangers of that. Doyoung knew that if he were to even accidentally lead a cop back to their space, Taeyong wouldn’t let him know the feeling of peace for however much of his life would be left.

Instead, Doyoung swallowed and turned the keys to his own cell, sliding out of his car and walking up to them.

“Hello, officers,” He spoke as he stopped at the base of the stairs, the rain soaking his hair and shoulders thoroughly already, “What seems to be the problem?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can see, i really don't like writing any kind of filler, so everything just moves with plot points skjdfkjfd 
> 
> i am very excited for this next chapter bc we once again get to see some character dynamics that i've been dying to introduce. i still am laughing about how off my prediction for word count was bc i'm still barely introducing important characters hhhhh anyways!!! i hope you enjoyed!!<3<3<3 let me know what you think and i'll be back as soon as i can with another chapter<3


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyoung gets arrested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [!!!IMPORTANT!!!] 
> 
> hey guys! i'm sorry for the long pause, but with everything going on I felt it would have been incredibly insensitive of me to post this. in fact if i hadn't ended the last chapter as i had, i probably would have scrapped this entirely, but there was no way around it, along with the fact that this plays a part later in the plot-line as well. that being said, i am adding a content warning for this chapter
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: this chapter discusses corruption in the police force and abuse of power.
> 
> while this is a work of fiction, this is also an ACTUAL problem faced by ACTUAL people and if you would like more information please reference [this carrd](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) and help in whatever way you can. 
> 
> if this content makes you uncomfortable PLEASE skip it, you will in no way hurt my feelings by doing so. the next chapter is going to be lighter. as always, enjoy<3

Doyoung had heard stories about Neo City’s police force. There’d been plenty of rumors that he had known of, ones whispered behind closed doors and under someone’s breath. Doyoung had heard them, read them on anonymous forums, the ideas always pinned in his mind every time he passed a white sedan. He had thought for the most part that they weren’t true, that they typically stemmed from a mistrust of law enforcement and that it probably was more along the lines of frustrated citizens spouting off facelessly. He kept them tucked in his mind, though, hidden in the folders he searched when new information came to light. Doyoung thought a heavy skepticism was what led to a better understanding of both perspectives. 

Sitting here, in the chipped red brick room, staring at the black mirror of a one way window, Doyoung began to understand that these rumors probably weren’t false afterall. 

Corruption. Evidence planting. Faulty arrests. A lack of due diligence and perhaps turning a blind eye to things they just didn’t want to deal with. Paperwork disappearing. Voices that rose against them, quelling just as quickly as they had begun. 

Doyoung was understanding all of them now, reciting these rumors in his mind, attempting to regain the information he had almost burned. He had thought every rumor to be exaggerated, but it was slowly becoming more apparent that they were, in fact, not wrong at all. 

The officer that sat across from him wasn’t unattractive, not in the slightest. In fact, given any other circumstances, Doyoung would have probably been more enamoured with the man than he would have cared to admit, but the throbbing of his head from where the officer had bumped as he drug him from the cruiser reminded him that he was _not_ on Doyoung’s radar. His lips were pouty and his jaw squared and sharp, features dollike and perfect, but somehow still masculine enough to be intimidating. The navy colored uniform he wore accentuated his shoulder width and Doyoung remembered clearly how he’d used them to drag him around, despite the handcuffs holding him completely hostage. 

_Officer K.Qian_. 

_Qian_ , Doyoung cursed in his mind as he stared at the golden ring on his left hand, _I hope your spouse secretly hates you and someday divorces you._

The first thing Doyoung asked upon arrival to the brick room was for his phone call. By luck, it seemed they were willing to oblige, Doyoung snatching the wireless landline from the officers hand. There was a moment where Doyoung’s fingers hovered over the phone buttons, unsure of who’s number to type. His mother had watched him be arrested and he didn’t know any of the members' numbers by heart. Plus, he suspected if he called any of them from the police phoneline he would wind up in a ditch by morning, from either party.

_Jeno_ , his mind supplied helpfully, _Jeno_ knows about _everything_ and knows _everyone_. There was a brief moment where Doyoung was _almost_ thankful for that. Almost. 

His fingers shook as he typed the familiar number, the young man answering on the fifth ring. “Hello?” Jeno’s tenor wobbled through the static, causing Doyoung’s heart to both sink and soothe itself in an instant. 

“Jeno!” Doyoung said cheerily, “Hey, listen, I don’t want you to worry or anything but I’m not going to be able to pick you up later. You’re going to have to find another ride.” 

There was several heartbeats in the silence that followed and Doyoung _prayed_ Jeno wouldn’t be stupid enough to correct him, knowing they were probably being monitored. Before he could speak again, the younger replied, voice just shy of disappointed, “That sucks, I was looking forward to seeing you. What happened?”

“Like I said, please don’t worry, but I kind of got arrested.” Doyoung answered hesitantly, playing with the metal table top as he spoke, fingers dancing of a foggy and scratched reflection of themselves. He prayed the facade was strong enough to be believable, knowing the officer in the room was studying him as is and probably more behind the thick, opaque glass. Doyoung assumed this was what fish in home aquariums felt as the cats circled for entertainment and entry.

“Oh,” Jeno said simply, voice toeing inquisitive naturally, “Why?” 

“I’m not really sure yet. Anyways, I promise I’ll make it up to you. My mom was there when it happened and I just didn’t want to rely on her being the one to call you. You know how she gets when she panics- she always forgets things. I didn’t want you to be stranded, but you’ll have to find some other way back.”

“Understood, Doyoung,” Jeno replied, a tinge of sadness to his voice that sounded bitterly fake to Doyoung but was believable enough, “I hope to see you soon.” 

The line clicked off before Doyoung could respond, but Jeno’s words had sounded like a promise and Doyoung hoped he was _right_. He slid the phone across the table to the officer, who took it wordlessly, nearly black eyes unimpressed and uninterested. Doyoung didn’t thank him for the call and the officer didn’t thank him for the return of the phone.

“So, officer,” Doyoung spoke not unkindly despite the taste of rhubarb on his tongue, “Can I ask exactly what I’m being detained for?” 

“Unlawful possession of a deadly weapon.” Qian’s voice was high and flat, almost as though he was bored with Doyoung’s questions. 

“What weapon?” Doyoung asked, kicking his feet against his chair, listening to the metallic thumping. He felt oddly petulant, as though he were ready to have a childish fit in wake of the phone call just to make the officers day a little worse. “I wasn’t carrying any weapon.” 

“That blade we pulled from your sleeve doesn’t count as a weapon?” Qian’s eyes were narrow, dark and irritated. He looked almost as frustrated as Doyoung felt.

“It’s an antique,” Doyoung was just as quick, slouched in his seat and weary of the show, “Besides you confiscated it from me without any cause to do so. You violated my rights.”

“Probable cause was you carrying an illegal weapon in your sleeve.” The officer was unrelenting, unmoving in his position. 

Doyoung scowled, “Why were you talking to my mother in the first place?” The officers lips were tight at that, the two falling back into silence as Doyoung felt like bashing his head against the brick. 

In a mere moment of the staring contest beginning, the metal door swung open suddenly, catching the two off guard as the tall officer that had been accompanying him appeared. His features were soft and rounded, but handsome in a boyish way despite the towering height and defined muscles pressing against dark fabric. He was tanned; a tanline licking his forehead from what Doyoung assumed to be a baseball cap and his hair and eyes were so dark they glimmered under the artificial lighting. This officer was bright, cheery, something warm and colorful like a field of sunflowers. He was an officer that Doyoung might have considered _good_ at some point, but as he was beginning to realize there was little in this system that could be qualified as _good_. “Hey, guys! I brought coffee.” 

And he _had_. Two paper cups were clasped between encompassing hands, a smile as bright as the fluorescent lights overhead painting his face. _Officer Y.Huang._ Doyoung could imagine he would have possibly adored Huang in any other setting. “Thank you, Yukhei but-” 

“No buts!” Yukhei was as brilliant as ever, dismissing the elder and setting the coffees in front of the two. “Here you go, Doyoung. I hope Kun hasn’t been the worst company, he can be such a hardass sometimes, but he’s a nice guy.” 

Kun was scowling from across the metal table, eyes glinting something dark, but it was Doyoung who spoke, “I don’t need coffee. I also don’t need fake hospitality.”

Yukhei took it in stride, smile never leaving in a way that surprised Doyoung, “That’s fine! Coffee isn’t for everyone. I’ll drink it in that case.” And he _did_. As quickly as he had set it down, he had stolen the cup back and began to drink it on his own. 

Doyoung just watched him as the man made himself comfortable in the room, a fixture adding light to an already well-lit room. _Unnecessary._

“And you are _positive_ that’s what he meant?” Johnny asked, voice terse and flat as he paced the empty hallway of the fifth floor. The fifth floor was always empty at this time of day, the interns all leaving by 4:30p.m., leaving the middle three floors completely barren until the janitors would arrive at 9p.m. This was where Johnny would always take these phone calls, the familiar numbers popping up on a phone they weren’t allowed to call unless it was a _dire_ emergency, literal life or death. Sometimes, not even life or death mattered enough to interrupt Johnny’s _real_ life. He drew a strict line between his _business_ and his _career_ , one made of bricks and barbed wire. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Jeno hissed from the other line, voice almost a whisper. Johnny wondered where he was calling from, what he had been stopped in the middle of as well. It was evening, Jeno should have been home with his family and being a _normal_ teenager. Johnny wondered if that was what he had been doing and that was why his voice was low and stressed, wondered if his family was a thin wall away from his unknown extracurriculars. Johnny’s chest panged strangely, not unlike the times where he saw Taeyong wrapped in fuzzy blankets, crying over whatever animal video he happened to have stumbled upon in that moment. Johnny’s attention was drawn back to Jeno as the young man spoke again, “They have him, I’m positive. I didn’t know who else to call but you. Taeyong and Yuta are at work and Jaehyun wouldn’t deal with this anyways. I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I really am. I just- I didn’t know what to do.” 

_He’s so lost,_ Johnny thought, brain mulling in the moment over, _He’s so lost._

“You did good,” Johnny said slowly, voice even and soothing. He ignored the sigh on the other end of the line, picturing the boy slumping in his seat in response to the affirmation. “Thank you for calling me first, Jeno. I’ll take care of this.”

_I’ll always take care of this._

If the atmosphere was uncomfortable, no one told Yukhei, as the man was babbling randomly in the brick room to the other two. Kun was sat perkily, completely focused on Doyoung with a gaze that felt uncomfortably strong. Doyoung avoided him entirely, staring at the blurry reflection of Yukhei on the table as the man described his weekend in detail. He wondered what had convinced someone who seemed as genuinely nice as Yukhei to join a force of known corruption. The journalist in Doyoung wanted to ask, wanted to pry, but the self-preservationist in him reminded him that the crime ring wasn’t the only group suspected of playing magic tricks with people. 

Doyoung wondered if there was anyone untouched by corruption or if it was just threaded through every authoritarian position in Neo City as the stitches holding everything together. Doyoung had long thought that Neo City’s crime ring was the largest problem, but maybe there wasn’t anything in Neo City that _wasn’t_ a problem. If there was one thing that he was learning on this undercover reporting, it was that nothing ever good came out of someone with unchecked power. 

Yukhei had moved onto a tangent about his breakfast that morning and how it had clashed with the rain, when the door swung open once again, startling all three. In the entryway stood a man who was shorter, stockier, with brushed back blonde hair and features sharper than Kun’s. He was more stern looking than Kun, lacking the doll-like features, but still as unusually attractive. He wore a dark blue uniform, a glittering silver rectangle on his breast symbolizing his position and Doyoung felt incredibly nervous upon recognizing the man from the many press conferences he had always held. 

The Chief of Neo City’s police, Moon Taeil, was standing in the doorway, eyes locked on him as he attempted to shrivel into his uncomfortable seat. 

Doyoung was _fucked_. 

Johnny’s trip took less than thirty minutes before he was standing in the precincts lobby, signing in at the receptionists. The rain outside had paused momentarily, though the time wasn’t long enough for many patrons to have gotten back on the roads. His trip was quick, the destination far too familiar. The receptionist gave him a polite but terse smile while handing him his visitors badge and leading him through the back. Johnny _hated_ this brick building.

“His lawyer is here. Everyone out. Now.” Taeil’s voice was unforgiving, void of any true emotions. Doyoung felt himself shiver in what wasn’t quite terror but was something deeper than discomfort as he watched Kun and Yukhei shuffle through the door, leaving Doyoung to momentarily wish for them to have planted themselves back in their seats. He _really_ didn’t want to be left alone with Taeil. 

Doyoung felt oddly trapped underneath Taeil’s stare, as though his limbs were no longer allowed to move without permission from the other man. The man wasn’t bigger than Doyoung, not in any way, but there was something incredibly intimidating about his presence. He felt threatening without having to actually _try_ and be so. 

When the door closed behind the pair, Taeil finally spoke, voice low and even, clear in the echoing of the near-empty room, “He knows everything. Put on a good show.”

Taeil was out the door before Doyoung could fully process his words. 

“You’re telling me _John Suh_ is representing _him_?” Kun’s voice was higher than normal, slightly crackly as he spoke. Taeil was stone faced as usual, Yukhei beaming from the corner as though he had no cares in the world. Johnny was unimpressed, crooking an eyebrow as he stared at the officer. 

Johnny tried to maintain an indifference, but his distaste of the police had grown a little too sour over the years, fermenting like poorly kept wine. “He is a paid intern at NeoTech Print. Do you think that they would allow one of their employees to be frivolously arrested and not hire the best legal representation in response?” 

Kun’s mouth moved as though he wanted to retort, wanted to speak, but in the end was silent. Johnny just smiled in return, beaming far too brightly in the dim and drab room, blinding the inhabitants, “I’m going to speak to my client now, if you don’t mind.” 

Taeil stepped away from the door, letting the taller man duck through, straightening his jacket. Doyoung was slumped in the metal chair, looking _tired_. It had been a long day, Johnny knew. He hadn’t expected this, any of _this_. He had to keep a better reign on Taeyong and the man’s play. He suspected his husband had more involvement than he wanted to let on, his finger tugging more marionette strings for no reason other than watching them dance. Johnny needed to keep a better eye on his husband.

“Oh, Doyoung,” Johnny sighed, setting his case on the table, smiling softly as the man looked up at him in surprise, “What am I going to do with you?”

Doyoung’s dark eyes were contoured with blue crescents, his sharp lips pulled into a neutral frown, shoulders curved uncharacteristically. Johnny felt sympathy for the man, he knew Doyoung didn’t want to be here- and not just physically. “Get me out, hopefully.” His voice was airy as though he had attempted humor, but it fell just short in a rather sad way.

“You won’t be in here much longer. Tell me, did they find any reason to hold you?” Johnny’s suit made a soft noise as he steepled his hands under his chin. 

Doyoung shrugged, “They searched me after they arrested me and found _the_ knife.” Doyoung didn’t specify _which_ knife, but he assumed it was one Doyoung had never intended to find in his fingers and had probably forgotten about long before his detainment. The information Doyoung gave him was already known to Johnny, Taeil having filled him in momentarily in his office prior but there were minor gaps, along with the fact that the camera mounted in the corner required at least _some_ kind of act to soothe its ever curious eye.

“Alright,” Johnny said slowly, fingers tapping a non-distinct pattern on the leather of his case, “I can work with that.”

Johnny had disappeared and left Doyoung in the uncomfortably barren room, the only sound his breathing, the shifting of his clothing, and the occasional groan he released when it got too quiet. There was no way rooms like this were legal, he thought. There _had_ to be some kind of psychological stressor that this counted as. His mind was jotting notes, thinking back to his original purpose for this endeavour. Doyoung was certain to write a section on Neo City’s police department- the corruption, the allegations, the detainment. He would write it _all_. It was strange, he thought, how much this expose would truly include. He hadn’t expected to have collected so much information on so many different parts of Neo City. There was a thought Doyoung had, one that scared him more than anything he had seen so far: by the time he finished collecting this information, what would the outcome be? It was something he hadn’t thought of previously, hadn’t thought of the results of such an expose. By now he had collected information on so many vital parts of Neo City that the thought of exposing it became almost catastrophic feeling. Doyoung thought there was two ways this could go: a collapse of power in Neo City or the problem being covered up as the damages would run too deep for punishment. Doyoung thought the latter to be far more possible. 

By the time the door to the room swung open, Doyoung’s chest was fluttering with anger, eyes melting the metal table in front of him as his brain worked over everything from the police to the pointless job he had been sent on. There was a distinct anger in Doyoung’s body at the treatment he had received, though, one he knew ran deeper and further than he was graced with, and that they had never faced consequences for. 

“Alright,” A familiarly pitched voice said from the doorway, breaking the silence and Doyoung’s inner thoughts. Chief Moon was standing by the entrance, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes level. Doyoung said nothing and the chief made no move to encourage him to. Instead, the chipper officer from before sauntered in, long legs crossing the room in barely five strides. Taeil spoke from the entry, “You’re free.”

Yukhei undid his cuffs quickly, a sheepish smile on his wide lips, dark eyes still as kind as before and completely unbefitting of the setting, “I’m sorry about that.”

Doyoung’s eyebrows knitted, “About arresting me and keeping me here for _how many_ hours for no reason? Or about showing up at my house to interrogate my mother on something you all _still_ haven’t explained?”

Yukhei didn’t flinch at his snappy tone, instead taking it in stride, smile still beaming as he nodded, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Protocol and all.”

_Protocol,_ Doyoung thought bitterly, _fuck you and your protocol_.

The car ride was quiet, the radio playing just loud enough to be heard over the car tires and rain, but not loud enough to disturb Doyoung’s thoughts. He was staring at the pinkness surrounding his wrists, the color that would fade into blue and purple as it bruised. Doyoung was staring at the knife laying on his lap, the one Johnny had been able to work into being a familial antique, one that was covered under city ordinances, the Japanese phrases aiding in such an agenda. Doyoung supposed it wasn’t a lie, the knife a relic, though just not his own. Johnny didn’t seem bothered by lying. Doyoung also supposed Johnny lied a lot.

“Johnny?” Doyoung asked carefully, voice as fragile as glass. Only when the taller man made a noise in acknowledgment did Doyoung continue, “Do you know the Chief?”

“Taeil?” Johnny’s voice sounded akin to a polaroid Doyoung would have seen in his mother’s scrapbooks; faded and distant and almost like a memory. “Yes, I know Taeil.” 

“Is he a part of-” Doyoung paused; a part of _what_? What was he looking for? What answer was he searching to ease his mind? “-of all this?” 

Johnny didn’t answer, not for a long moment, and Doyoung wasn’t sure he wanted him to. Doyoung looked up from his thin wrists, eyes tracing Johnny’s profile to memory. His nose was flat, lips plush, cheeks high, hair so dark it was nearly black and slicked over his scalp classically. Johnny was handsome in an obtainable way, one that made him feel _too_ real. He was offset by the incredible quality of the suit he wore, one that made Doyoung almost afraid of breathing near him lest he damage the fabric in any way. “Kind of. Taeil is a long story and so is Kun. If you stick around much longer you’ll become acquainted with the two.”

“ _Kun_?” Doyoung snapped, “ _That_ asshole is in on this?” 

Johnny chuckled, though it was mirthless and hollow, falling just short of mean but somehow still patronizing. Johnny was often patronizing, Doyoung realized, though it wasn’t in a condescending way; he felt as though he was incredibly knowledgeable but pride kept him from sharing, in turn leaving everyone just shy of informed. Johnny was strange to be around. “Not exactly. Also, probably don’t let Ten hear you talk about his husband like that.” 

“ _Ten? Husband?_ ” Doyoung nearly shrieked, “What is going on with this place?”

Despite Doyoung’s distress, Johnny’s voice was soothing as chamomile when he continued, “It’s not as clear cut as you think. It’s a long story and I’m not sure Ten would want to tell you, but they’ve been together longer than Taeyong and I have been. They’re very,” Johnny paused, flipping on the turn signal and fully waiting until he had made the turn to continue speaking, “Complicated, I guess is the word I’m looking for.”

Doyoung didn’t ask any questions after that, watching as the city faded to suburbs and the pinkness into bruises. The handcuffs were gone, but Doyoung could feel them still, feel the weight of them. He doubted it would be the last time he knew their weight, he supposed he would have to familiarize himself with them. 

When the car stopped, it was outside of Johnny, Taeyong, and Yuta’s house. Doyoung gave a glance to Johnny who only smiled softly, “Come on, Doyoung, we’re home. Let’s go inside.” 

_Home_. What a strange concept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed and i'm actually looking forward to the next chapter a lot. 
> 
> i hope you all are safe and healthy and i will see you in the comments/next chapter<3<3<3<3<3<3


	8. A Dying Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Side-characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhh originally this chapter and the next chapter were supposed to be one whole thing, but editing was taking me FOREVERRRR so i'm sorry about that :// anyways, expect the next update verrrry soon (as in, tomorrow/next day lol)
> 
> i hope you guys like this chapter bc i know it's a bit /different/ than the rest of the story and i also left out one major couple bc i am planning a solo chapter later on, but i hope you enjoy this regardless. <3<3<3

Autumn was inarguably Renjun’s favorite time of year, despite Jeno hating the rain and Jaemin hating the cold. Renjun loved the feeling of the days that were warm but disturbed by chilly winds. Renjun loved the scent of warm spices and wood and freshly wet pavement. One thing he loved the most, though, was the rich tones of reds, yellows, and oranges that lit the world around him on fire in a blaze he was able to experience firsthand.

Sitting here, though, in the middle of this field, he was entirely surrounded by the deep jewel tones of many, _many_ species of flowers. Jaemin had been able to name a few species off of the top of his head, having studied botany as an elective. The sharp neon purple toned pink of the _dianthus_ flowers. _Chrysanthemums_ colored by the rainbow sprouting in small hoards. The dark eyes of yellow _pansies_ stared at the trio from their short stems. Renjun loved the flowers, but was surprised that it was Jaemin who knew about such a location. 

_I know the person who planted the field,_ had been his explanation along the wide dirt path they took to get there, _She’s a family friend. She told me I could bring over anyone I wanted to as long as I stuck to the path and was respectful to the flowers._

Renjun believed him. Jeno did not. 

_Are you sure you didn’t just fall into it one day while high off your fucking ass?_ Jeno had accused with his ever-friendly jesting tone, as the trio sorted through conifers and the occasional broadleaf tree shedding their wings.

Jaemin had positively beamed at Jeno’s reply, knowing his edibles were stashed in the picnic basket Jeno carried, _Maybe a little bit of both._

The bubblegum pink haired boy hadn’t been lying, though, and that much was discovered as they had passed the small cottage in the woods surrounded by a vine swallowed iron fence. A beautiful woman with ink black hair, possibly darker than even Jeno’s, that fell over her back in a bandana had waved to Jaemin as they passed. It hadn’t taken long to arrive to the field after that, the seemingly endless path _ending_. 

There they sat, bathing in the golden rays of a dying sun, the middle of autumn drawing closer to the end and preparing to leave them in an icy nothingness for spring to clean up. The trio took what they could from the season while it was here. Jeno had suggested an outing and Renjun had offered the idea of a picnic. That morning, when Jaemin had insisted that he knew _exactly_ where to go that fit _both_ of their ideas, Renjun had been skeptical. 

Jaemin was good at many things, but quiet outings was not one. 

Typically, Jaemin chose the lively beach, the walking trails in city parks, the areas where there was _life_ and _bustle_. Renjun suspected it was because he spent so much time on his own that the times he wandered from home were the ones where he wanted to be surrounded by the strange form of life that humanity had developed. 

Renjun was pleasantly surprised, however, upon seeing the field. The colors, the soft earth, the scent of rain from the day prior that was now soaking through his shirt- he loved it. Renjun wished he had brought his notebook, his fingers itching to draw- draw the flowers, draw the treeline, draw the two boys sitting next to him. He wanted to capture this on paper, a moment he knew he wouldn’t get back and doubted he could replicate. 

Jaemin and Jeno were sitting on the blanket next to him, backs to the others and heads tilted over the others shoulders to watch the wisps of clouds move through the sky at their leisure. Renjun had settled himself next to the blanket and on the soft grass, wanting to feel the earth for possibly the last time before the weather made it too difficult. He didn’t mind the moisture that dampened his shirt and made it cling to his skin, he knew in a months time he would miss it. Renjun liked to appreciate things in the _now_ rather than miss them as the _past_.

It had been quiet for most of their time there, broken only by the general forests sounds harmonizing with the birds occasionally singing and the random moment where one of them felt the need to speak. It was peaceful, Renjun thought, more peaceful than he had felt in a _long_ while. He was too young to be feeling so disturbed, he thought. 

“Hey, guys?” It was Jeno who spoke finally, tone conversational but reluctant as though he were broaching a topic he hadn’t fully been prepared to. Renjun thought that there were many topics like that and most of them Jeno was brave enough to incite. Renjun rarely talked about things he felt were too intense to process and he wasn’t sure Jaemin had ever _truly_ disclosed a negative emotion to them. 

Jaemin hummed from his spot on his shoulder, not quite moving away, remaining as lax as he had been before the other boy spoke. Renjun, however, sat up to meet Jeno’s eyes, curiosity digging deeper than the cravings of peace, “Yeah?” 

Jeno was beautiful in a strong way. His features were defined and bold, strokes of an ink brush on parchment, the softest thing about him cradled in his warm eyes and the beauty mark beneath one. Typically, Jeno looked unperturbed by anything; calm and collected and steady. Today, though, Jeno looked troubled, the creasing between his eyebrows unfamiliar to him. Renjun thought he too was far too young to be so disturbed. Renjun also wondered if there ever was an age at which it would be appropriate, though. “Why do you guys think my cousin’s under Taeyong?” 

There were no ears in the woods, though the _no names, no faces_ was ingrained in Renjun so deeply he almost corrected him, mouth popping open with the words flavoring his tongue before he snapped his jaw shut. It was Jaemin who spoke, voice strained from how he stretched his neck, “Do you have a theory you’ve been sitting on?” 

Jaemin was a stark difference from Jeno. While Jeno was all strong, steady lines, Jaemin was drawn from a fountain pen. His features were rounded, lighter, and fine tuned, his smile bleeding into his personality. He was unpredictable in a completely predictable way. Renjun wasn’t sure which side of Jaemin he liked being around more; the sharp and precise one, or the messy and sketched version. He supposed one without the other would feel hollow. 

“I think there’s just something,” Jeno paused, eyes downcast towards a chrysanthemum plant on the edge of the patch of grass the trio was rooted in, “ _Off_ about everything. Doyoung never skipped class in school. I don’t think he’s missed a day of university since he first started. When he had a job he was considered as the most reliable employee. He even got fucking nominated to win a character award when he was sixteen by the school. Doyoung was _the_ good student. He’s going to university on a full scholarship and he landed that _paid_ internship at _NTP_. It’s just- I don’t know- weird?”

Jaemin made no move to show that he acknowledged Jeno’s words, eyes latched onto the sky as Renjun absorbed his words. Renjun’s voice was even when he responded, understanding yet hopeful in a strange way that he himself couldn’t pinpoint, “Maybe he got into a weird spot financially?”

Jeno shook his head, making Jaemin’s body wiggle as he continued to rest his full weight against Jeno. Jeno didn’t seem to mind. “Doyoung is one of my most fiscally responsible people I’ve ever met. It’s fucking weird, Injun. There’s no reason he should be under _Taeyong_.”

Renjun looked to his hands, studying the birthmark taking up the base of his thumb. Growing up he had been embarrassed of the mark, until Jaemin had quite literally stumbled into his art classroom on accident afterschool, sat next to him as he worked on a project, and had made the offhand remark that it reminded him of a watercolor stain ( _y’know, like the one on your paper. It’s neat._ ). Renjun hadn’t ever forgotten it and he never seemed to be able to wash the feeling of Jaemin’s sunshine smile off of him since. It was Jaemin who spoke next, head no longer titled back, voice a far distance from the day where he had given Renjun such an unexpectedly sweet compliment. He sounded older now in a way he shouldn’t and the yellow tones of flower petals were drowned out by the frost of winter. “I know why.”

Taeil was too young to be a father of a teenager. He was too young to be a widow. He was also _far_ too young to be the Chief of Police of a city the size of NeoCity. Despite this, all were true statements. 

“Hyuckie, put away your shoes. I’m tired of tripping on them when I come home and you’ve left the light off.” Taeil wasn’t scornful, his tone far more exasperated than it was ever angry. Taeil didn’t think he could ever be genuinely angry at the fawnlike boy perched at the granite island. 

“I’m sorry, Ilie” Donghyuck was honest, Taeil knew, but also forgetful. “I didn’t think about it. Mark is supposed to be coming over and I needed to finish my schoolwork before he got here. I should’ve been more careful.” 

Taeil just shook his head and headed for the fridge. He hadn’t been at work that day, rather being stuck at Taeyong’s for one of the days of his weekend. Far too many of his free days did he spend sitting across from the man, plotting, discussing- he often wished he could take a _true_ vacation. Instead, he found himself spending his weekends with his boss and managing a city’s half-safe system, while coming home to a child that was no longer a _child_. Taeil simply wiped his mind clear as he opened the fridge. When he decided upon a small strawberry yogurt, he turned to the younger and sighed the words, “It’s okay.”

_It’s okay_. It’s _always_ okay. Taeil had taken in Donghyuck many, _many_ years ago. His wife had wanted children, wanted a family, and they had almost had that. Organized crime in Neo City started long before Taeyong’s arrival, however, and Taeil knew it would long outlive the man as well. Taeil didn’t know much about Donghyuck’s past, just that when the two were paired together, Taeyong had said their situations were negatives of each others. Donghyuck had lost his family, Taeil had lost his unborn child and wife- a mismatched set that fit together unusually perfectly. Taeil never asked Donghyuck if he remembered what had happened, fearing an answer with far more information than a simple confirmation or declination should ever hold. 

Taeil just agreed to take in the six year old when he was a twenty year old widow, but only with Taeyong’s promise of a steady career in his future.

Donghyuck was eighteen now, though the brat seemed to have no intentions of moving away any time soon and Taeil couldn’t find it in himself to mind. He found the idea of living alone in the open plan apartment to be daunting after having had the company for so long. Donghyuck was torn somewhere between his son and his best friend and Taeil didn’t truly want to find out what life was like without him around. 

“Ilie, you’re okay with Mark coming over right? I think I should have asked first but-” Donghyuck kicked his socked feet against the island quietly, sweater covering his hands and pooling in his lap over his shorts. Donghyuck occasionally looked so _tiny_ Taeil almost couldn’t believe he had grown at all. It reminded Taeil of how he had gotten the nickname _Ilie_ , how Donghyuck couldn’t remember the name _Taeil_ but could remember the _il_. Taeil had never been _dad_ , but he supposed _Ilie_ was far more special.

“Mark is always welcome over, Donghyuck. You’re an adult. I trust you to make smart decisions.” Donghyuck glowed at that, chestnut eyes squinting under unruly sterling grey hair bouncing with his giddiness. 

There was a knock on the door almost immediately after and Donghyuck rushed to answer it, nearly blinding in his joy. Taeil was sometimes reminded of the time that Taeyong had teased him about the trio they had formed after the hacker was brought in. Taeyong had cooed about the stars in Donghyuck’s eyes after meeting the older boy. _We had the sun and moon_ , Taeyong had said as he had toyed with his thoughts, _I guess Mark brought the stars._

_Nakamoto Yuta [4:03 p.m]: are you going to be at home tonight?_

_Which home? [Read 4:05 p.m]_

_Nakamoto Yuta [4:06p.m] ???_   
_Nakamoto Yuta [4:06p.m] you only have one home?_

_Oh, you mean my family home. Ok. No, I won’t be there. Johnny said I should be at theirs tonight. [Delivered 4:08p.m]_   
_Tbh I haven’t been to my family home in…[Delivered 4:08p.m]_   
_3 nights. [Delivered 4:09p.m]_   
_I don’t really feel comfortable there since…everything. [Read 4:09p.m]_

_Nakamoto Yuta [4:11p.m] did johnny tell you to call it home?_

_Actually it was Taeyong, surprisingly, over breakfast the other morning. [Read 4:11p.m]_   
_Why? [Read 4:11p.m]_   
_Where have you been these past few days? [Read 4:13p.m]_   
_Yuta? [Delivered 4:23 p.m]_

Jungwoo and Jaehyun weren’t used to having guests. Despite the two of them both being rather friendly with everyone, their house was rather private. Jungwoo had inherited it from his grandmother, a tiny little cottage on the outskirts of the eastern city lines, the building buried in birch trees and grassy hills with no neighbors for miles. The two were unlikely roommates when Jaehyun had stumbled into one of Jungwoo’s gigs with Yuta and Taeyong only a handful of years ago. Jungwoo had been introduced as _Rose_ , the long brown wig shifting his androgynous features more feminine. Jungwoo was a drag queen back then and still was _now_ , just with the addition of the unflatteringly harsh term _pimp_ tacked on at the end. Jungwoo’s _real_ life was almost as unprecedented as his _side_ life. Jaehyun had taken it in stride and the two had become close almost instantly. Since then, they’d moved in together and spent most evenings quietly together. 

Yuta, however, had interrupted that for the past four nights. He had slept on the couch, leaving only for work before finding his way back to the obscure home.

Jungwoo and Jaehyun didn’t mind. Yuta was a quiet company, polite and easy to live with. The three worked well in the small home together. Jungwoo had offered the spare room (that honestly was more of a windowed closet that only barely fit a twin bed and a single tall drawer-filled nightstand), but Yuta had declined. Jaehyun had offered to share his own bed and Yuta had also declined. The silver haired man chose the couch so he could disappear and reappear as needed without disturbing the others. Neither Jungwoo nor Jaehyun minded, understanding. 

Jungwoo often wondered what Yuta was doing when he vanished in what felt like thin air. His day-job had a consistent schedule and rarely did he ever veer from it, the randomness of his secondary life being the thing that made him a magician. Jungwoo was both inquisitive, but also cared more for his mental fortitude more than that. He didn’t question when Yuta would walk in, shoulders slightly slumped, hair messy, tired in more ways than physical, and instead offered warm tea and cozy company. 

On the -unexpectedly- last day of his stay, Yuta had walked in looking tight, face drawn into a terse line, dressed in his typical dark clothing, but lacking the accessories. His hands were decorated, though, his rings broad and many. Jungwoo knew that style, _knew_ what they were used for. Jungwoo didn’t know how to greet him, staring at him from the kitchen where he had been washing dishes peacefully. Yuta didn’t look at him as he hovered in the entryway of the house. Jungwoo almost spoke when Jaehyun’s footsteps padded from his room down the small hallway, wearing a comfortable outfit of basketball shorts and a tee shirt. Jaehyun didn’t look surprised to see Yuta standing there, looking as he did. “Yuta,” His deep voice was smooth and lilting, though Jungwoo knew the playful tone to be the one he used solely for business, “Are you ready?” 

Jungwoo looked back to Yuta, who gave him a curt nod and a stoney _yes_ confirmation. That had been all it took for Jaehyun to head to the entry and slide his shoes on. 

With that the two disappeared, leaving Jungwoo quietly washing dishes alone again. Where Yuta was taking Jaehyun, Jungwoo didn’t know, but he assumed it had something to do with the long stay at their cottage. Jungwoo was a curious man, but he was also smart enough to piece things together on his own. He didn’t do so, though. He preferred maintaining his mental peace over sating his curiosities. 

Taeyong was tucked comfortably beneath Johnny’s arm, absorbing the warmth from the older man like a reptile finding the single patch of sun in the fading evening. Taeyong often thought the nickname _Dragon_ was awfully fitting and not just for the red ink tattoo that curled around his thigh and hip in a manner similar to that of a birthmark or a burn. Taeyong’s fingers were tracing the dips and curves of Johnny’s body, the sharp lines and rolling muscles from the effort he put into the definition. Johnny was a hand carved marble statue, Taeyong’s favorite art piece living in his collection. He could study Johnny for _hours_ , the man a never-ending entanglement of intrigue to him. Johnny was the one thing Taeyong was unable to disenchant himself from, the one thing he found he was unable to live without in this life, the one thing he had yet to figure out how to molt. Johnny was his _love_. 

It wasn’t traditional, Taeyong knew, and sounded rather far from love when one understood the fact that Taeyong had successfully dragged his husband down and into nefarious and quite illegal activities. Taeyong didn’t mind being unorthodox, didn’t mind the peculiar nature of their relationship. He knew Johnny didn’t either, otherwise the man would have vanished long ago. In truth, Taeyong thought, if Johnny had never enabled him, never _supported_ him, Taeyong would have never gotten in as deeply as he had. Taeyong might have even been able to reverse some of his decisions, move on to a normal life and live blissfully free of the carnage he had wreaked, and have never gained the endless craving for more of the power he had tasted. 

Johnny _had_ supported him, though. 

The two were ammonia and bleach. Silent. Scentless. Lethal.

Taeyong _loved_ it. 

He had thought many years ago, when Empathy had become an actual _gang_ rather than an _idea_ , Taeyong had thought that he would yearn for the normal life he had given up. He thought he would miss the chance to raise children, settle down comfortably, live a _clean_ life. Taeyong thought there would be a part of him that regretted his decisions. 

Now, though, laying on blood red satin sheets against the man of his dreams, Taeyong couldn’t find it in him to regret a single choice.

“What are you thinking about?” Johnny finally asked, having been watching the way Taeyong’s fingers danced invisible patterns across his chest and abdomen.

“Lots and lots. What about you?” Taeyong didn’t answer questions, not directly. He preferred gaining information than giving it. Johnny knew this. Johnny didn’t mind.

“I’m thinking about what games you’ve been playing without me.” Johnny answered simply, voice deep in his chest and making Taeyong’s fingers stutter with the movement.

“Hm, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” It had taken him a second of faux coyness, smile creasing his mouth despite his words. Taeyong’s voice was smoother than the satin they lay on, but Johnny seemed to want to press the issue, wanted to see how long it took for the satin sheets to turn to the nylon of rope. Taeyong loved when Johnny pressed, when he challenged him, loved the feeling of being scrutinized under judgemental eyes. Taeyong never allowed anyone else such a luxury as challenging his authority, but from his lover it felt positively _delicious_. Taeyong often thought the only thing he was less willing to give up than his business was his Johnny.

“I think you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about, Taeyong.” There was a moment that tasted not unlike metal between the two, as they hovered in time while Taeyong decided his next course of action. The metallic moment broke, though, when Taeyong had decided and moved swiftly. Johnny watched, unamused and almost _bored_ , as Taeyong slid on top of him, straddling his wide sheet covered hips. Taeyong was bare and sore, but the chance to annoy Johnny was far too enticing of an opportunity to pass up. “You’ve been picking new toys without me again, haven’t you?”

Taeyong grinned wickedly, patting his chest gently with the tips of his fingers, a rhythm as unpredictable as the man tapping it playing through the room, “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean, John.”

Johnny was skeptical. Johnny was _always_ skeptical. Taeyong loved it. “Your secrecy is going to cost you one of these days, Taeyong.”

“How about I cook dinner? Yuta and Doyoung are coming home tonight.” Taeyong couldn’t help but continue to smile at the narrowed expression Johnny had him pinned with. It felt incredible to be bathed in such a harsh attention. Any attention from Johnny was good attention, Taeyong thought, as long as it was solely on _him_.

As Taeyong reclaimed Johnny’s mouth in a kiss that was far too messy for someone having asked to leave the bed, his mind processed Johnny’s words. _Your secrecy is going to cost you_. Taeyong didn’t mind. He had plenty of blood soaked hundreds stacked in his bank account that could cover the bill. 

Yuta and Jaehyun were standing on the pier of a lake not far from Jaehyun and Jungwoo’s house. Yuta enjoyed watching the sunsets, enjoyed the colors the sky turned as day bled into night. Tonight the sky was alive with a sweet violet and murky green that glowed above the emptying birch trees. Autumn would be finishing in a few weeks and this lake would be freezing over soon enough. As is, Yuta could already see his breath in the air tonight, coming out in foggy clouds that mimicked ghosts. The sun would be leaving them soon enough, shrouding them and the forest in the ever comforting, ever suffocating, darkness of night. 

“This is nice,” Jaehyun said, pulling Yuta from listening to the sounds of the disturbed water, “We should spend more evenings like this.” 

“Preferably not _exactly_ like this, but I agree. We need more,” Yuta paused, squinting at the nearly black water on the opposite shoreline, “ _Peaceful_ nights.”

Jaehyun nodded quietly next to him. Yuta looked away from the distance and to his hands. There were rope burns across his palms, his knuckles bruised and sore, slightly swollen even. There was blood decorating his hands and wrists and forearms, though none was his own. How unexpectedly eventful these past few days had been and just how lucky Yuta was that he knew people living in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at the pile of leftover rope on the docks from where he had cut them from the trunk of the tree. Soon the hemp tassels would sink to the bottom of the lake, but only after the water settled. 

Yuta and Jaehyun both looked to the spot of unusually deep water next to the small dock, a prime fishing location. There would be more fish in this spot within the next few days, though no one would be coming for them as fishing season had long since ended. Instead, the heavy metal tied to rope tied to an ankle would keep the body in place until the fish devoured it and the winter ice would hide the bones until they too sank.

Once again, this man would never be found. 

Yuta and Jaehyun watched the bubbles slow, slow, _slow_ \- then stop. 

Jaehyun kicked the rope into the water, watching it float momentarily but sink due to the metal hooks lining it in an off-rhythm pattern. Yuta felt his phone vibrate and he glanced to the screen. He hadn’t responded to Doyoung’s earlier texts yet, but the impatient man had sent another. 

_doiedoiedoie [7:01p.m] Are you going to be making it to Taeyong’s for dinner? He’s asking._

_be there in an hour. [Read 7:01 p.m]_

When he put his phone away, the lake was mirror still again, glowing with the reflection of the sunset. Yuta sighed, glancing at Jaehyun who gave him a flat appraisal, “I love sunsets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed, are staying safe, and i will see you very, very shortly<3<3<3


	9. A Breathing Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyoung's easy to take apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me taking nine years to edit this lmao 
> 
> remember when i said that this fic was going to be an estimated 50k fic? lmaoooooooo i'm barely halfway through the story rn this is crazy and probably the longest thing i've ever written. 
> 
> anyways, this chapter is another kind of slow(?) one and is in junction with the last! nothing too dramatic, but man writing taeyong as an antagonist is so hard for me bc that's my BABY hhhh
> 
> anyways, enjoy<3<3<3

Doyoung didn’t know how he had gotten to where he was, but the sweat collected in his collarbone and glued his shirt to his back with an aggressive adhesion he hadn’t expected. The shirt felt as though it were another skin, his body sticky and mind crying and Doyoung couldn’t figure out _why_. Yuta was standing in front of him, a familiar blade clenched in familiar hands. _Oxblood and diamonds_ , Doyoung thought far too bitterly, _what an irony._

He had never seen the blade from this angle, kneeling beneath it in a position saved for reverence and mercy, but he knew many others _had_. The irony of the moment wasn’t lost on Doyoung, not when he knew that this was how it always would end. 

Yuta flipped the intricate blade over several times, eyeing it as the sunlight ate in through the room's tiny windows -that Doyoung swore were blacked out the last time he was here- and bled across the carpet. The irony of it being Yuta standing in front of him was also not lost on Doyoung. 

Yuta looked as he always did when completing missions- dark, sharp, and a distinct lack of anything _human_. Doyoung watched as he caught the blade, the back pressing against the bone of his forearm as he balanced himself. Doyoung was tied up, bound and motionless- there would be no resistance yet Yuta still looked as though he were ready for a fight. The speakeasy was empty of any forms of life, save for the two- there would be no rescue, though Doyoung was certain no one would interfere with Yuta’s job regardless. Doyoung closed his eyes as Yuta wordlessly brought the blade in a swift slice. Then- 

Nothing. 

There was nothing. 

There was no impact of a force, no stinging of a blade, no sound of Doyoung’s life fleeing from his corpse as he attempted for the gates of Heaven that he had tried so hard for. 

Doyoung’s eyes peeled themselves open, looking up to Jaehyun. He looked down, eyes soft, cheeks soft, expression _soft_. He was cheeky as ever, smiling without actually smiling. He looked warm. 

Still he raised his hand, his favorite wooden handled gun pointing to what Doyoung could imagine to be the perfect center of his forehead. He watched as pretty fingers pulled the terrifying trigger and the backfire flung the barrel towards the ceiling, yet the sound of a bullet igniting never rang through the greyed out warehouse he was kneeling in. Instead, clapping replaced all other noise, reverberating far too loudly off of the concrete floor and metal walls. 

From the darkness of one corner that hadn’t been there a moment ago, slithered Taeyong. Trailing his footsteps, like a good and proper shadow, was Johnny, eyes downcast and body slightly hunched uncharacteristically. Taeyong’s smile wasn’t wicked and it wasn’t cruel. It was genuine, reaching his eyes and creasing his nose. It sent shivers through Doyoung’s body. Just as Taeyong’s teeth parted to speak, a horrible noise shrilled from the man's gaping mouth, vibrating his teeth. 

It took Doyoung several moments to blink himself from sleep, the nightmare clinging to his skin like a bad omen, one that he would need to burn off with sage. He should have known it was a bad dream cluttering his unconscious mind. There were many of things off about it, facts in real life that weren’t cohesive. Johnny never lived in Taeyong’s shadow, the man not only literally too big but metaphorically as well. Jaehyun was a hands on killer, carrying heavy and blunt objects as his weapon of choice until he _had_ to use his firearm. Yuta had come home a night ago, after having been gone for several days, and had immediately dyed his hair a cherry red that he claimed would look good for autumn and subsequently winter. Doyoung didn’t disagree, finding the red quite suiting the man's appearance. Still, the dream had felt so incredibly _real_ , that it left him cowering in the spare room (that was slowly becoming _his_ room) for longer than necessary, and trying to peel the top layer of his skin off.

Doyoung must have huddled there for longer than he thought as a soft knocking on the door brought him out of his panic. 

“Doyoung?” Johnny’s voice was soft, kind, honey like in the wet autumn sunlight of morning, “Doyoung are you okay? You’ve normally come out by now.” 

“I’m fine,” Doyoung’s voice cracked on the words as he spoke it to the door and to himself, a reassurance that did nothing for either people it was meant for, “I’m fine.” 

There was a pause that was full of contemplation before the door creaked open without his permission and Johnny’s concerned face peaked in, glasses high on his nose and bangs trapped beneath them. He looked comfortable in his pajamas of a grey tee shirt and navy colored bottoms, cozy and comfortable. He looked like _Johnny_ , not the shadow. Doyoung felt himself take a deep breath, one that rattled his bones around in his skin and tried to settle his heart. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you need to talk about anything?”

Doyoung shrugged, letting the blankets fall into his lap as he relaxed. “I’m just stressed I think. I had a nightmare which hasn’t happened in a long time.” Doyoung’s fingers slid together as he thought about his therapist and thought about the things they would say if he told the dream. Doyoung was thinking about his therapist a lot recently and he knew that wasn’t a good thing. How many years had passed since he had needed a consultation? Far too many for him to go back now. 

Johnny frowned, but nodded sympathetically. Like this, Doyoung could almost convince himself that he had met Johnny organically; Doyoung could tell himself that being around Johnny like this wasn’t just a part of a job for both of them. Doyoung could almost convince himself that this hollowness in his chest was from nothing more than the fact that he could see himself crushing on a married man. “I can understand. Have you thought about reconnecting with your mother? I’m sure she’s concerned.” 

“She probably is,” Doyoung said bitterly as his cheeks took the sting of the whip of his tongue, “But she ratted me out to the cops. I think she _needs_ to worry for a bit.” 

Johnny frowned, at what Doyoung wasn’t sure, but made no further attempts to coerce him, seeming to decide that Doyoung was an unmoving force on this topic. Instead he backed out of the doorway, ceding in a way that felt like a white flag on a topic he wasn’t qualified to fight for, “Well, if you want breakfast I’ve got eggs and toast ready.” 

Doyoung sat next to Yuta on the couch after breakfast, the TV off and the two just melting into the fabric quietly. The two were uncharacteristically silent, words escaping both’s minds, but Doyoung found he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. Nothing with Yuta was uncomfortable. At least, not for Doyoung. Yuta was often Doyoung’s only refuge of something as close to stable as he could manage to find. Yuta’s personality was often shifting faster than sand dunes, but for some reason Doyoung had decided sand was the perfect foundation for his house. So, Yuta wasn’t ever uncomfortable, not for Doyoung. 

“So,” Doyoung broached after the sun was high in the sky, readying to start the fall of the day, heading into wilderness territories he wasn’t sure he should be going without a map and compass, “Are you going to tell me about where you were?”

“Why? Are you the jealous type?” Yuta’s tone was teasing, smooth and easy to drink in. It was almost sickening how easily Yuta avoided things he didn’t want to confront, how easily this man slid around topics and moments and people. Doyoung could _never_ have that type of suave, that type of freeness. Doyoung was always trapped inside of the cage of himself, while Yuta had picked his own lock so long ago. 

Despite the flush covering Doyoung’s face, he pouted, eyeing the carpet in front of them, “Absolutely not.” Yuta only smirked, face coy and entertained and Doyoung could only look at him from the corner of his eye in fear of turning to stone. When it was clear Yuta had no intentions of continuing the conversation, Doyoung pressed again, “I’m just curious.” 

For a while, Doyoung thought Yuta would keep him in suspense, dangling him two feet above the ground after a free fall. That seemed to be one of Yuta’s favorite things to do to Doyoung- keep him waiting in suspense, keep his heart cracking his breastbone, keep him _wanting_. Yuta seemed to ponder Doyoung’s inquiries for the time where nothing filled the air, his tongue in his cheek, before finally speaking, “I was at Jaehyun and Jungwoo’s.”

“They live together?” Doyoung asked, surprise lacing his voice. Out of everything Yuta could have said, that had not been one of the things to cross Doyoung’s mind. 

“Yeah, they’ve been roommates for years. They have a cute little cottage together.” Yuta sounded fond, voice distant like his mind was still in the cottage while his body was here. Doyoung wondered if it was a peaceful visit, a friendly one. Doyoung wondered if it was a happy moment of Yuta’s time. 

Doyoung didn’t ask in fear of what he might have found out. Instead, he went for the lighter topic, “Are they, y’know-” He made a few non-committal hand gestures that meant nothing, but somehow conveyed his thoughts in a way Yuta understood. 

“ _Together?_ Jaehyun and Jungwoo?” Yuta actually laughed, chest full and mirth coated, and Doyoung felt his heart stutter again. Happiness looked good on Yuta, his smile broad and brilliant and one of the best he had ever seen, “No, god no. Those two together would be a disaster- nothing but drama. Jungwoo is so needy and whiney and Jaehyun is so distant and closed off. They would be a mess. They make perfect roommates, though.”

Doyoung hummed, absorbing the information. He didn’t want to go backwards and peel up more layers of bandages. Instead, he wanted to listen to Yuta talk lightheartedly some more, listen to the soft lilt of his voice and the warmth it brought despite the chill of autumn. Doyoung chose an easy topic, one just to keep Yuta talking. “Tell me about Jungwoo. I don’t really know much about him.” 

Yuta’s smirk was caught between playful and genuine and Doyoung couldn’t help but stay staring at him. “Well, he’s a drag queen for one. We met him at one of his shows. Some of the girls he worked with were running a side businesses at the strip club side of the building and well, Taeyong seemed to have an interest into veering into _that_.” 

“ _That_?” Doyoung had ideas of what _that_ was, but he wanted confirmation from Yuta before diving into assumptions.

“Sex work.” Yuta clarified, “I don’t know why, but he had a curiosity and the girls seemed to only add to it. So, he decided to hire a few on. Taeyong didn’t know that Jungwoo had already been something like their bodyguard for a while. He refused to take the term _pimp_ because he thought it was kind of sick and exploitative and he’s _right_. Instead he just insured the girls safety and they decided to pay him for it. Taeyong liked that and encouraged him to join. He’s one of the newest -and youngest- kingpins.”

Doyoung made a sound showing he understood, despite the fact that thinking about babyfaced Jungwoo being a bodyguard had him reeling. His questioning took a slight bit of a turn to a more genuine curiosity as he wanted to pick at the polaroid in his mind of Jungwoo. “What about _him_? What’s _he_ like?” 

Yuta looked at him quizzically, eyebrows squishing in an almost cute manner. “Don’t tell me you’re crushing on those puppy dog eyes?”

Doyoung flushed, he could feel his cheeks turning different shades of pink like the leaves outside but he bit back quickly, “Now don’t tell me you’re the jealous type.” Yuta laughed fondly as Doyoung had thrown his own words back at him and let him continue, “No, I’m just curious. Everyone keeps talking about him but I’ve barely met him. He’s Rose, right?”

“Yeah, Rose is his nickname. Snoopy is his drag name, if you’re wondering.” 

“ _Snoopy_?” Doyoung’s eyebrows were in his hairline, voice incredulous as Yuta continued to chuckle in his throat, “Those sound like they should be reversed.” 

Yuta laughed again, colorful and bright, and Doyoung could still feel the way his body yearned for another timeline where he could love that sound, “You’ll get used to Jungwoo. That’s just _him_. Anyways, he’s an oddball. He’s cuddly and incredibly affectionate and makes everyone smile, even when they don’t want to. You’ll like him, I’m sure of it.”

Doyoung thought that he agreed. 

Doyoung hadn’t expected it to be such a sunny day, the clouds bidding farewell for a long moment where the sky bled greyish blue light onto the world. The air was nippy but not uncomfortable, a long sleeved shirt plenty to keep him warm. He also hadn’t expected the invitation extended to him at breakfast from Johnny, one for a sushi date between the two. Johnny had looked far too polite to decline in his knitted sweater and glasses. Doyoung was still far too nervous around the man to be able to deny him anyways. 

So, he found himself seated in a nice but small sushi bar in the quiet suburbs around their house. The bar was styled oddly with typical Japanese arts and aesthetics yet with modern retro themed furniture that left a discombobulated, yet somehow cohesive, aura. The music playing over the speakers was an instrumental that left plenty of open room for quaint conversation and silence that wasn’t awkward. 

Johnny had ordered a miscellaneous platter full of color sushi, most of which Doyoung couldn’t identify. Doyoung stuck to his basics and ordered a chicken katsudon that arrived looking incredibly delicious. 

The date had been mostly silent with a minor amount of small talk that left him feeling warm inside from more than the food. It had been pleasant being able to spend genuine time with Johnny, the two rarely crossing paths despite Doyoung practically living in the mans house now. 

“So, Doyoung, how are you settling in?” Johnny’s voice was mild, conversational. They’d managed to come in between the lunch and dinner rush, only an elderly couple in the opposite corner along with the employees accompanying them in the building. Doyoung knew the question was a loaded one, one holding far more than just an inquiry to his life, the peace they’d built up slowly falling as the house of cards it was. Doyoung wasn’t sure if Johnny spent so much time with all of Taeyong’s employees, but he also had begun to realize he wasn’t just _another_ recruit. 

Doyoung tapped his glass of water with his fingertips absentmindedly as he mulled the question over, voice soft and distant when he answered, “I think fine. It’s been a little while now, hasn’t it?”

“About two months.” Johnny supplied, voice as kind and gentle as it had ever been. Johnny didn’t fit the profession of mafia husband nor lawyer. Johnny suited teaching, Doyoung thought, something where he used equally gentle hands and voice and helped others grow. Johnny belonged in the suburb house he lived in, but he never belonged in the house directly behind it. “It’s a strange adjustment, I’m sure. How are your grades?” 

Doyoung shrugged, chewing on a piece of chicken while he thought, “They’re fine. I’m not behind in any of my classes. I have a few tests upcoming.”

“And your internship?” Doyoung paused, half a piece of chicken caught between his mouth and the chopsticks, something far too similar to his own situation. _His internship_. He hadn’t been since Manager Kim had forced him to join the gang. He hadn’t checked in and they hadn’t called. Doyoung put the piece of chicken in his mouth, hoping Johnny didn’t notice his stutter, but knowing fully well he had. Johnny never missed details. 

“They haven’t called me in. I’m almost concerned I’ve lost it.” Doyoung wasn’t lying. There hadn’t been any form of contact in a while and there was a nagging concern that they’d just let him go without noticing him. 

“You should check in with them this weekend. That’s rather,” Johnny’s voice faded and Doyoung looked up from his bowl to see Johnny staring at his own glass of water with his eyebrows knitted and lips pursed. Doyoung didn’t like the way he was staring, didn’t like the implications behind his unspoken words. How much Johnny knew, frightened Doyoung, as the man never gave more information than he ever wanted to. “That’s rather odd.” 

Instead of immediately heading back to the house as Doyoung had expected, Johnny took the two on a sidequest. The lake they arrived at was large with a dirt walking path carved around it. Oak trees stood heavy and half bare on the outskirts and several willows were weeping into the waters as their teardrop leaves slid into the darkness of the lake. Ducks and geese were huddled around and in the water, minding their own business as the two were the only people on this side. In the distance there was a smudge of a man fishing and a couple people doing yoga, but otherwise the grassy surroundings were empty. Doyoung supposed it was the chilly air and the threat of the rain returning unexpectedly that kept most people away. Johnny wasn’t most people though and seemed to beam at the possibility of rain. 

“If it rains that would just be awfully romantic.” Doyoung had ignored him in favor of heading for the lip of land next to the water where a bench sat, unused and isolated. It was metal and slightly cold from the moisture in the air, but it wasn’t enough to make Doyoung clammy, so he stayed. 

Johnny followed momentarily, sitting himself down and watching as the water swayed with the ducks that dove under the surface randomly. The sky wasn’t dull yet, the sun still glittering on the surface of the shifting water, but there was no glare that made Doyoung squint uncomfortably. It was the perfect day, he thought, to be sitting by the lake with someone like Johnny. 

Johnny felt like _this_. Calmness. Serenity. Beauty. He also felt like the lingering sensation of thalassophobia and the numbness that came with the fear of what was hidden just below the surface of deceptional water. 

“You’re staring at me.” Johnny’s voice was nice, but Doyoung couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit patronized. How much time had he lost staring aimlessly at Johnny while trying his depths? 

“I’m just thinking, sorry.” 

“Thinking?” Johnny hummed quietly, feet kicking out in front of him. The jeans he wore were far more casual than his work attire but far nicer than his comfortable house clothes and they sunk slightly into the deep carvings of his muscular legs. Sometimes Doyoung was reminded of just how _long_ Johnny was and now was one of those times as he watched the man stretch like a cat, hands reaching above his head as he did so, long tan knitted sweater sliding up his abdomen just barely. “Thinking about what?” 

“Thalassophobia.” Doyoung answered with slight honesty, looking back to the lake.

“Are you scared of the water?” Johnny asked after a moment, voice a little _too_ interested for Doyoung’s liking, like a cat that had seen a mouse in the grass. Doyoung didn’t want Johnny knowing his fears- something about that felt as though he were passing it off to a demon. 

“No, not particularly.” Doyoung was careful again, similar to the first time that they had talked in the speakeasy, “I just think it’s interesting. I mean, people with that phobia aren’t really scared of the water, but really what’s _in_ it. You can’t see what’s around you. I really think people have an innate fear of not knowing things.”

“That’s an interesting thought,” Johnny seemed to be genuinely listening to Doyoung’s words. There was a subtextual context that he wasn’t intentionally giving that Johnny seemed far too keen on. Doyoung knew Johnny spoke that way often, knew that that man found all the information he had gathered through reading in between the lines and hearing all the things people _didn’t_ say. Johnny seemed to function on a level that Doyoung would never reach, one made entirely of context and instinct and ability to read people as easily as a children’s alphabet book. “There are so many things that people don’t know, though, they can’t possibly fear them all.” 

“I guess it’s more of when someone is confronted with what they don’t know. Ignorance is bliss all the way up until you’re looking directly at it.” Doyoung wasn’t sure what conversation they were having anymore, far too many layers being peeled away and suddenly he felt so naked that it wasn’t comfortable, his skin itching under his clothes. The lake, the park, the sushi date, the peace of it all, felt so far away.

“What are you scared of, Doyoung?” The question felt like a pillow was pressed lightly over Doyoung’s face- it wasn’t suffocating, yet the panic of the possibility was soaking into his muscles and preparing him to flee or fight. Johnny’s voice hadn’t changed and Doyoung hadn’t looked at him since the conversation had began and he was almost terrified to see Johnny sitting there looking exactly as he had at the start. Calm. Serene. Beautiful. Unknown.

“The unknown.” Doyoung answered simply, voice catching in his throat. 

Johnny chuckled, but it wasn’t humorous and it lapped at Doyoung’s nerves like the water on the shore, “Aren’t we all?”

Taeyong felt like a child again. He didn’t often feel that way, but Yuta seemed to be the only person able to shrink him back down to a human size. Yuta never fell for the easy charms that dripped from Taeyong’s tongue like poisoned honey, nor did the wet blinking eyes crumble his heart. Yuta was one of the few people Taeyong couldn’t seduce to get out of trouble, his immunity to Taeyong’s aphrodisiacs almost an entirely natural occurrence. They’d been friends for so long that Taeyong found it impossible to lie to Yuta and in turn Yuta found it impossible to ever leave him. It was how they worked. 

So now, sitting on the couch in a fluffy sweater and shorts while Yuta glared at him from across the room, Taeyong felt oddly like a younger sibling who had been caught stealing from their parents by their older sibling. Yuta’s arms were crossed, his freshly red hair tied back, eyes narrowed on a specific target and completely unwavering. “Taeyong, answer my question.”

Taeyong’s lips puffed outwards, fingers playing with the hems of his shorts as he distracted himself, “I don’t know what questions you mean.” 

He heard the frustrated noise that built in Yuta’s chest and followed the sound of his movement across the room to the recliner where he dropped. “Who was that man?” 

“Which man?” Taeyong looked up to Yuta, chewing on his bottom lip, “You need to be a little more specific, I know plenty of men.”

“The one sitting at the bottom of Crown Lake.” Yuta’s tone was flat, the one he used when he wasn’t in the mood to play Taeyong’s games. Still, Taeyong gave him a coy grin the words _which one?_ forming on his tongue but Yuta was faster, “Taeyong, don’t play with me.” 

Taeyong sighed, head lolling back against the backrest of the couch. “Yuta,” He drawled, voice higher than normal, “You’re no fun.” 

“Answer me.” Yuta truly wasn’t in the mood for games today. He was taut today, like a bowstring notched for a kill. Taeyong wondered how the man had grown so terse as he had looked so pliant this morning, curled up cozily with Doyoung. 

Taeyong groaned, rolling his head forward dramatically, childishly, “Okay, fine. He was what you could call an _informant_.” Yuta’s expression was flat yet curious and Taeyong understood the man was still waiting on him for more information. Taeyong didn’t always like giving away information, didn’t like people knowing everything he knew. Taeyong made it a point to always be the more informed in the room, to hold all the information and all the power over a moment. Sometimes, though, pieces were worth giving away for free. “Tell me, Yuta, how much do you know about Doyoung?” 

“Enough,” Yuta said simply when it became clear Taeyong wasn’t speaking again until he had a verbal confirmation. Taeyong knew Doyoung had become a soft spot for the red haired man, knew that somehow the pretty man had become a fascination for more than just himself. Taeyong found it delicious to have such a man under his thumb. Doyoung had started out as a shiny new toy for Taeyong, something he had wanted so he had taken it, yet he turned into a chess piece for every game he played with every person who entered this house. Taeyong hadn’t expected Doyoung to become his favorite card, but sometimes Taeyong’s luck was incredible.

“Are you sure?” Taeyong asked carefully, feet planting themselves on the floor again as he leaned forward. He was across the room from Yuta but somehow it still felt as though he were crowding the other man, invading all of his space and then some. Taeyong’s presence was far bigger than the space he existed in physically. Taeyong often thought himself to be almost too big for the planet. Maybe Taeyong had a slight bit of an ego, but he couldn’t find it in himself to reign it in. That was Johnny’s job. “Are you _sure_ you know enough about him?”

“Taeyong, spit it out.” Yuta snapped, eyebrows curving downwards, “Just what are you implying?” 

Taeyong couldn’t help the lopsided grin overtaking his mouth as he leaned back in his seat. “I’m _implying_ nothing. I just think that I mistook my _mole_ for a bunny.”

When Johnny and Doyoung arrived at the house, the sky was dark and so was the house. Life had settled for the night, the dying sun having gone to rest and the breathing moon not yet climbing to it’s throne. It was that strange in between where the nightlife of autumn had yet to emerge but the day creatures had burrowed themselves to bed already. The world was silent. The house, too, was silent, devoid of life. 

Johnny only turned on the entry light as they made their way inside, Doyoung kicking off his shoes as he followed. Johnny’s voice was distant and enticing, calling him to follow wherever he went. “Doyoung, would you like some wine?”

Doyoung thought that it was far too early for wine, that they had been out for lunch and an outing and that dinner still hadn’t been served, yet he found himself accepting into the darkness. Johnny flicked on the dim and free hanging light above the sink as he found his chosen stemless glasses and pulled the red wine from the fridge. The liquid was so dark in this lighting Doyoung could almost mistake it for a black color, one that felt like a Devil’s offering. Doyoung remembered that his mother had always told him that the Devil’s water wasn’t sweet and instead tasted like blood red wine. Horribly accurate, Doyoung thought, for the moment he was in. 

The first sip that passed his lips felt like the first sin; it was bitter but sweet, the taste of raspberry faint and enticing with the dry burn. Johnny led Doyoung quietly through the house, through the living room and the open space that Doyoung could see from the second story and into the room underneath the staircase and across from Taeyong and his room. Doyoung hadn’t ever been in this room, but it french doors leading into it with large windows on the far wall surrounded by bookcases and heavy curtains, comfortable seats decorated with plush pillows and throws tucked neatly around the room, old and heavy wooden furniture decorating the space. The only light in the room was coming from the outside, the windows overlooking the backyard and the small garden that Taeyong had built up. 

When Johnny made his way over to one chair he flicked on the small lamp there, the lighting low and almost like candlelight. In the new light Doyoung could see the room a bit better, could see the sleek and modern design that melded nicely with the classic aesthetics. It felt like Johnny and it felt like Taeyong. Doyoung sat in the seat across from Johnny, his wine glass emptying far quicker than he expected. This wine was addictive, Doyoung thought, and once again he thought about all the teachings and scriptures he’d grown up with. The urge to kneel and pray was bubbling in the back of Doyoung’s mind, but instead he stared at the way Johnny’s thighs curved in his jeans. Doyoung took another drink of wine, ignoring the imagined aching of his knees from hard floors. 

“You’re out, let me pour you some more.” Johnny’s voice rose him from the trance he had fallen into. Doyoung hadn’t noticed he had finished his glass, hadn’t noticed the warmth in his cheeks and chest. He merely held his glass out limply, eyes hyper-focused on Johnny’s body as it came closer. Johnny didn’t seem to notice, but Doyoung knew he did. Not much escaped Johnny, Doyoung thought, not much was unobserved by the man. 

Johnny’s fingers slid past Doyoung’s as he pulled the stemless glass from his hand and Doyoung felt the warm spread from his chest to his fingertips and he was suddenly thankful for the low-lighting otherwise he knew Johnny would see the coloring of his face. Doyoung was certain Johnny already suspected, though, already _knew_. Johnny was close, far closer than he needed to be to pour Doyoung’s wine, legs practically touching Doyoung’s own. Doyoung kept his eyes on Johnny’s feet because if he tilted his head upwards he knew it would be nothing but his wide lap overtaking the room. “Here.” Johnny’s voice was deep, deeper than it should be, rolling from somewhere in his ribcage that left Doyoung’s knees almost quaking. 

Doyoung’s gaze moved upwards, eyes trailing the entire length of Johnny’s broad form before landing on his eyes that glowed almost blackened gold in the lighting. Doyoung’s hand was as unsteady as his heartbeat as he took the glass from him. Johnny didn’t immediately vanish, though, eyes still set solely on Doyoung as he looked down at him from such a compromising angle. Doyoung thought he was going to speak but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Johnny took a step back and turned around.

The moment Doyoung was able to breathe again was the moment that Johnny made his way back to his seat and sat down, the younger finally melting into his seat as the space gave him a moment of clarity. 

After that, their conversation was casual, far more lighthearted than that of the lakes, shattering the tension that had encased them. Johnny told Doyoung about several childhood memories, the time he spilled strawberry soda down the front of his white dress shirt before his first day interning during university, and how Jaehyun had accidentally pantsed him while drunk at the beach one night. Doyoung, in turn, told Johnny about his brother's piano recital when he was nine and how he had been sent out to the car for badmouthing one of the other players' technique. Doyoung was far too gone off of the unexpectedly strong wine to feel too embarrassed about his admissions. 

“Doyoung, let me show you something.” Johnny made his way back over to Doyoung, crossing the small space in less than three strides. Johnny looked sturdy as ever, far more so than Doyoung felt. Doyoung could still feel the way his joints trembled like windchimes and the dryness of his mouth wasn’t only from the wine. Still, when Johnny offered him his hand for assistance, Doyoung accepted. 

When Doyoung was standing, Johnny intertwined their arms and gently led Doyoung to the bookcase behind a large desk. Johnny wasn’t forceful but he was coercive and it made Doyoung far more nervous. Johnny was the type to be able to get whatever he wanted through only intent, force unnecessary with his type of charm. That was almost more intimidating to Doyoung. Johnny had brought him over to show him his certification in law, his diploma’s, his graduation photo. Johnny was showing him accomplishments, the ones from his _real_ life, the things _he_ had worked for. 

Johnny finished preening to the younger man around the time that Doyoung had registered his arm had slid from his and had found purchase around his lower back and waist instead. Doyoung was pressed close to him, brain sluggish and drunk from more than the wine- Johnny smelled _wonderful_ , Doyoung noticed belatedly. Johnny smelled like pine and water and something deep and rich. It almost made Doyoung’s eyes cross as he inhaled unintentionally deep, wine-sodden brain sluggish and not quick enough to stop his actions. Johnny paused in whatever monologue he had been giving to the unhearing man. 

“Doyoung?” Johnny’s voice was as smooth as the wine but _fuck_ it went through Doyoung’s body like whiskey, a fire catching everywhere it touched. Doyoung lifted his head from where it had been resting on Johnny’s shoulder without him having actually noticed, eyes meeting Johnny’s. 

_This_ Doyoung thought, was _incredibly_ wrong. 

Doyoung didn’t move though when Johnny’s head ducked down and his mouth covered his own. Johnny tasted like wine, unsurprisingly, mouth slightly bitter yet lips soft and warm. He moved carefully, swallowing the sounds that were escaping Doyoung’s throat without his permission, body nearly shattering in his grasp. 

Johnny shuffled the two so Doyoung was pressed against the bookshelves, next to his graduation photo with Taeyong and Yuta and Doyoung nearly sobbed at that. 

Johnny tasted like _wine_ in the same way his mother had always described the Devil’s temptations and for some reason that connection made Doyoung’s knees finally give way.

Johnny seemed to have expected this, though, scooping him up easily under his thighs and carrying him to the desk. Johnny dropped him there, slotting between his legs as though he belonged there. Doyoung had merely a second to catch his breath before Johnny’s lips were overtaking his again. Johnny kissed like he did everything else: carefully. His lips were slow and warm and took their time working the thoughts from Doyoung’s mind. One hand was resting far too high on Doyoung’s thigh and the other was cupping his jaw and cheek, holding him like he was made of something far more delicate than he was. 

“Now Doyoung, adultery is a sin.” Doyoung snapped away from Johnny quicker than the other one could stop him, though with this position Doyoung could go nowhere. The voice coming from the doorway was sly, a nasally deep one that reminded Doyoung of a snake that was awfully close to biting him. 

Taeyong sauntered around the edge of the desk coming into sight finally, Doyoung craning his neck to look over his shoulder. Johnny hadn’t moved, hand still cupping his thigh, the other having fallen to rest on his shoulder and play with his collarbone. Johnny gave Taeyong the softest smile, one reserved for someone he loved with his whole heart. 

“Don’t mind me,” Taeyong added after a moment of silence, “I’m not here to interrupt.” 

Somewhere in Doyoung’s foggy mind his rational side, his _Christain_ side, was _crying_. That side of him was silenced when Johnny’s mouth found his again and nothing in the world existed after that. 

Doyoung wasn’t sure how he was able to get back into it so quickly, but that seemed to be a feat that Johnny had learned: how to make the world rotate around _him_. Doyoung’s body was on fire faster than he expected, skin hot and tingling, similar to the feeling of when he would get sunburns as a child. He felt as though every nerve was being sucked on gently by Johnny’s prying mouth and he was able to lose himself in the scent of pine and water and _wine_. 

When Johnny’s mouth departed again he found his way across Doyoung’s neck, lips pressing soft kisses into fevered flesh that had Doyoung panting into the silence of the room. Doyoung almost forgot about the man’s husband standing only a few steps away, but when his eyes slid open again, their gazes were locked reminding him of his reality. Doyoung couldn’t find it in himself to look away, almost as though he were physically incapable of doing so. The way Taeyong stared at him was so different than anyone else. Taeyong looked at Doyoung like he was tearing him apart, piece by piece, recycling him into something he liked better, borrowing all of his pieces and creating something _new_ , something of _his_. It was unnerving how Taeyong managed to look at people like he knew everything about them, even more unnerving when his husband was palming his victim through his slacks. 

Doyoung was far too noisy for such a quiet setting; sounds slipping between raw and parted lips mixed with more air than necessary. Johnny’s hand hadn’t let up since it had found its way over his cock in his slacks, the fabric soft and yielding and far _too_ perfect for a moment like this. 

“He sounds so pretty, doesn’t he, Johnny?” Taeyong sounded almost playful, like this was nothing more than entertainment for him. Perhaps it was only entertainment for Taeyong, the man seemed to have a sick sense of what was better than the nightly news.

Johnny nipped at Doyoung’s collarbone before pulling away and straightening up, his hand not yet leaving Doyoung though, still rubbing intentional shapes on everything he _shouldn’t_ , “Very pretty.” He agreed, voice deep in his throat.

“I think you should keep going.” Taeyong was leaning against a small end table, ankles and arms crossed as he watched the two. Taeyong felt like a hunter stalking his prey and Johnny was nothing more than the weapon in his hands.

Johnny’s fingers found Doyoung’s chin again, grasping him once again as though he were a glass rose. Doyoung could see the wetness of his bright mouth, the way black had swallowed the gold of his eyes, could see the warm wine flush of his cheeks. He didn’t look as wrecked as Doyoung knew _he_ did. Doyoung knew that he had to be nearly sick looking, skin fevered and flushed, body far too sensitive from something like _kissing_. When Johnny tentatively began kissing him again, though, Doyoung realized that this wasn’t about _him_. Johnny was kissing _him_ but this was entirely for Taeyong. His brain mulled it over as Johnny worked him over until both his mind and hips were grinding in frustration. 

Doyoung’s jaw was no longer able to support the idea of kissing, his muscles lax as he fell into the limb numbing pleasure, practically just panting into Johnny’s mouth. If it wasn’t for the hand cupping his jaw and neck, he knew his eyes would be latched onto the ceiling instead of squeezed shut in frustration. His hands gripped Johnny’s biceps in an attempt to hold himself steady as he shook on top of the table, body attempting to process the moment he was living in. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Doyoung’s voice was far more throaty than normal, breath catching every other time he inhaled until he was shuddering and practically crying. 

It felt strange to be falling apart in front of someone and their husband. It felt strange to be being chiseled into tiny pieces by someone as another examined all of his parts under a magnifying glass. He was a science project; he was a diagram; it felt as though he wasn’t anything more than someone’s next interesting inquisition. 

When Doyoung came it was unexpected, his tongue cement coated and body void of muscle. He simply stuttered unintelligible words into the crook of Johnny’s neck and let his body fall apart in front of the onlooking audience. If Taeyong and Johnny wanted to open him up and study all of his clockwork, all of the things that made him tick inside, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need to add really quick: 
> 
> 1\. i LOVE reading your guys theories on what's happening and what's going to happen and whatnot because it's just so much fun for me, so feel free to leave those types of comments
> 
> 2\. if you have questions, please leave them! it helps me know if there's things I'm not explaining fully or if there is anywhere i need to improve and also helps me know what details i need to add to future chapters because as the author i know what i mean and am implying so sometimes i don't know if i am or am not focusing on things enough! if i can't answer them without spoiling something i'll let you know<3
> 
> 3\. my upload schedule is uneven and sporadic and i'm sorry about that, but i always want to make sure i'm writing things that i feel proud of and if i rush it i feel like i'm going to write something i hate and i don't want to give any content that i feel is subpar, so thank you for bearing with me! 
> 
> anyways, thank you guys! i hope you enjoyed and i can't wait to see you in the next chapter <3<3<3<3


	10. My Ghosts of Yesterday (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When nothing is the same and Home is nostalgic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m so sorry for disappearing like that oh my god i got so sick and that really triggered my depression so writing was just not happening hhhh anyways, here’s a split chapter because i figured an 11k chapter was going to be A Lot haha

Doyoung didn’t know what kind of fucked up a person had to be to get a partial handjob in front of the giver’s husband only to go and fuck their best friend, but whatever kind it was, Doyoung was _it_. He had to stop drinking, especially around the people in this house, he decided without resolution. Yuta had woken earlier than him, fingers trailing the soft dips and knobs of his spine as he hummed a foreign yet entirely familiar song. Doyoung could feel the pressure behind his eyes, could feel the dryness of a mild hangover coursing through his system. He _really_ should stop drinking. 

“You’re awake.” Yuta said softly, voice slightly dry and slightly tired and slightly too comfortable. Everything was a slight bit too domestic, too intimate. Doyoung could feel his palms growing clammy and mind fogging with the scent of everything that was Yuta- vanilla and musk and something as sweet as caramel. Doyoung didn’t want to withdraw from the bubble they had created, the soft and warm atmosphere that had encompassed them. He would have to, though, as this was far too much for what they were supposed to be. What were they supposed to be? Doyoung couldn’t remember at this point, but whatever they were supposed to be, it certainly wasn’t cold mornings spent underneath warm blankets with equally warm smiles. 

“Yeah,” Doyoung croaked back, sounding less soft and more exhausted as his body craved water and relief, “I need to stop drinking.” 

“I know,” Yuta laughed from his throat, the sound crisp and luminous in the murky morning light, “You’re way too easy when you drink.” 

Doyoung scowled at him, face half smooshed against the mattress as he seethed quietly. “I’m not _easy_ ,” Doyoung defended, half heartedly knowing he wasn’t being completely honest in his words and that Yuta wasn’t being completely _dishonest_ , “I’m just easily influenced.”

Yuta gave a chesty laugh, teeth exposed and eyes hidden. Doyoung felt his heart palpitate slightly as he watched, his cheeks and body warm. He rolled over and away from Yuta, creating a space bigger than the one on the bed. He needed distance from the man sometimes. His eyes fell to the open window and the world outside, the world he would have to face despite the desire to never see it again.

Today was a stark, steely grey, one a massive distance from yesterday. Today the world was _cold_. Winter was coming, Doyoung thought, and with it Christmas would be arriving soon. Doyoung thought about how finals would be arriving, how soon his mother would be dragging him to church events, and how soon the cold blade of winter would fillet him every time he left the house. Doyoung didn’t like winter, much preferring the mild temperatures of autumn and spring. 

Doyoung preferred neutrality. 

Today, though, was cold and Doyoung would have to face it as he did most things: alone. 

Doyoung was jarred from the path his thoughts had taken as a hand many degrees warmer than the skin of his waist, surprised him back to the present. “You’re thinking again,” Yuta said simply, voice as soft and warm as cherry blossom snow in spring. Doyoung liked that about Yuta, liked _this_ side of Yuta, “What are you thinking about?” 

“Too much,” Doyoung admitted honestly, finding it far too easy to let Yuta in on his inner thoughts, especially when he was staring at him with natural brown eyes and a distinct lack of metal in his body, “School, mostly. Holidays, too. Do you celebrate Christmas?” 

Yuta shrugged quietly, the sound of the shuffling sheets and the slight shifting of his hand on the curve of Doyoung’s waist the only indication of the movement. Doyoung couldn’t see him and maybe that was a good thing, knowing those chestnut brown eyes were far more a weakness than he wanted to be true. “I like Christmas time. I’m not necessarily religious, however.” 

Doyoung hummed quietly, fingers dancing along the dunes of the wrinkled sheets, tracing invisible patterns as they went, fingers far more gentle than the tone of his voice. “I think there’s a lot of beautiful things around Christmas time.”

Yuta shifted slightly closer and Doyoung couldn’t tell if he could _actually_ feel the heat emanating off of him or if it was his mind creating a false intimacy, but either way it sent goosebumps over his back and tingles under his scalp. Yuta mimicked Doyoung’s hum, the sound higher and somehow patronizing, “Yes, there definitely are.” 

Doyoung chewed on the inside of his lip, fingers pressing into the mattress slightly as he found himself unusually frustrated and _shy_. The shyness suddenly swallowing him was unusual as he realized he was essentially asking Yuta out on a _date_. Did Yuta even _date_? Was that something that Yuta _did_? Was that even something _they_ did? And would he even want to do that with _Doyoung_ of all people? It would be a strange step, Doyoung thought, to ask Yuta out on a romantic evening of looking at Christmas lights or participating in festive traditions. It almost felt blasphemous to do so, to take Yuta to something as holy as he was intending. 

“Do you want to go to any of them with me?”

Doyoung was surprised as Yuta offered the rendezvous, voice full of mirth and innocent sweetness that was definitely faked through brilliant teeth. “With you?” Doyoung squeaked, half rolling over to look at Yuta. Yuta was natural this morning, his piercings empty as his jewelry was put away in his box and his red hair fluffy and sweet. He looked _cozy_ and Doyoung almost wanted to stay in bed all day. That wasn’t possible, though, and when Yuta nodded his confirmation, Doyoung sat up and away from him. _Space_. He instantly needed space, feeling suffocated in the most sudden of ways. “We could. Anyways, I need to get going.” 

Yuta watched quietly as Doyoung slid on his shorts and disappeared from his room, a limp to his step and a weakness to his shoulders, a smile pulling Yuta’s cheeks unwillingly at the sight. Doyoung was cute when he was shy, but he was addicting when he was overwhelmed. It was so easy for Yuta to turn the other man into a flustered mess despite the tight reign he kept on his emotions and self. 

Yuta rolled onto his back, staring at the smooth ceiling above him, imagining patterns that were not there and never would be. Yuta had many thoughts about what Taeyong had told him about Doyoung’s past, where he had come from, what he had _done_. Yuta had formed many opinions, but none of them changed the fact that autumn mornings tasted best with the remnants of a night with Doyoung on his lips.

Additionally, things made more sense now, Yuta thought, than they did before. Taeyong’s fascination with the stellar student was no longer a coincidence. Doyoung wasn’t just another recruit, but Taeyong had intentionally brought him on as an interesting toy to spend some time with- a puzzle with no edges. Doyoung was Taeyong’s latest conquest, one that was going far more differently than anticipated, yet that fact only making him more entertaining. Taeyong was often bored in ways that led to vicious games, Yuta thought, and Doyoung was a far more passive game than normal. 

It did leave Yuta wondering, though, how far Taeyong was willing to take this game until everything was boring and he was left tired of his entertainment once again. Yuta also wondered how long Doyoung would play along until things crumbled beneath him to the point of having to make extreme decisions. Yuta wasn’t prepared to lose Doyoung to Taeyong’s vicelike grip, but he also knew that Taeyong was interested in him in a far more shallow sense. Taeyong liked having Doyoung around because he was shiny and new and almost uncontrollable in a polite and indifferent sense. Yuta thought that Taeyong found that to be the most stimulating part of Doyoung. 

Doyoung interrupted his thoughts, creeping back into the room as the sun barely made its way through thick and unforgiving cloud cover. He was dressed nicely in clothing he had kept in the spare room that he was slowly assimilating as his own, whether intentionally or unintentionally. A black turtleneck framed his broad shoulders and slim waist, tucked into black jeans accentuating long legs. Yuta couldn’t help but admire how the simple outfit seemed so high fashion simply by the way the man wore it. Doyoung’s hair was wet as though he had taken a quick shower and Yuta wondered how long he had been laying there pondering the man’s existence in his and his best friend's life. 

“I’m going to head out,” Doyoung said simply, looking as though there were things he wanted to say, things he wanted to do, but his _real_ life was dragging him out of the door once again. Or maybe he wasn’t being drug out, rather looking for the quickest escape route from everything he _wanted_.

Yuta propped himself up on his elbow, meeting his eyes from underneath his bed head bangs, “Do you have a coat?” He asked, jerking his head towards the outdoors, referring to the potential rain, “It’s too cold to go out without a coat.”

Doyoung shrugged stiffly, not meeting Yuta’s eyes and instead seeming to be focused on the cherry blossoms decorating his skin, “I don’t.”

Yuta grinned, letting the sheets fall a little more, letting his skin become only the slightest bit more exposed. He enjoyed the way Doyoung’s eyes followed the motions and once again it seemed as though he were ready to bolt, to escape everything he was being offered. Doyoung could only occasionally refuse sin, it seemed. Yuta spoke with a tone that he hoped portrayed how veil-thin Doyoung’s resolve was and how obvious it was to Yuta in that moment, “You can have one of mine.”

That was how Doyoung found himself on campus in a borrowed leather jacket and a borrowed sense of self. He was surrounded entirely by _Yuta_ , the man inescapable both physically and mentally. No one around him would know about the borrowing of the jacket, the silent marking of territory, but Doyoung _did_ and it felt as though Yuta might as well have branded him publicly. Either way, he found it difficult to focus on much else as he stood outside under the grey marble sky inhaling the trace amounts of vanilla and caramel, as the professor for his computer sciences class was ten minutes late. Students were antsy, some ready to leave the second the twenty minute mark hit, others complaining that they paid for the classes and wanted whatever they could get from it. 

Doyoung was barely paying attention to the world around him, barely able to focus on it. The professor could have been a whole hour late and he didn’t think he would notice. Doyoung’s mind was preoccupied by Kanja and flowers and geometric shapes that flowed with muscle tone. Doyoung’s mind was so lost in a non-existent future of Christmas lights and hot cocoa and something so domestic it was impossible to grasp within his fingers as though he were reaching for low hanging clouds.

Mark was standing near him, leaning on one of the cement pillars that supported the upper levels. Doyoung had never understood why his campus was almost entirely cement despite the rest of the city being built in bricks and glass. Mark was complaining about the algorithms assignment from last week and how there hadn’t been any sense to the coding manual the professor had handed out and that he didn’t understand why they were even covering coding _right now_ when none of the previous curricular had built up to it and it hadn’t been in the rubric. Doyoung nodded along, half paying attention as he watched a beetle waddled in the cracks of the cement, hoping to distract his mind a bit.

Everything was so _old_ here. Nothing was _new_. He could vaguely understand why Taeyong wanted to build the city from the ground up in his own image, with his own hands. Doyoung imagined a Neo City under Taeyong’s image would be far more aesthetically pleasing. Ethically, though, Doyoung couldn’t imagine it being much better than it already was. Doyoung had the horrible realization that if Neo City currently was worth dirt for morals, then what would really change if Taeyong _did_ control the city? Truly what would be the difference? The thought sent odd shivers through him, chilling his blood to match the outdoor temperatures so he could no longer feel the environment around him. 

“Doyoung,” Mark said, grabbing his elbow suddenly, tethering him to the earth once again, “Doyoung the professor is here. We need to go in.” 

Doyoung blinked roughly before nodding, shaking the dry ice from his bones,“Yeah,” He said, far more dazed than he should have been for just having been lost in thought, “Yeah, let’s go in.”

“Are you okay, dude? You’re acting a little strange.” Mark’s tone was concerned in the way that it often was. Mark was a worrier and he worried over most things, small or large. Mark was a good person, caring and kind with a heart that could carry oceans, despite the fact that he often tried to play himself off as the _too cool for that_ type.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Doyoung said as he set his messenger back on the table and then himself in the rolling chair. He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring himself or Mark and both of the two seemed to catch onto that fact. “Just tired.” 

Mark paused for a moment before he made a noise of understanding, glancing to Doyoung’s legs before he spoke again, “You seem like you had a fun night, you’re limping again.” Doyoung’s face heated instantly, ears burning, but Mark continued as though he hadn’t said anything at all, “Hey, is that a new jacket?” He asked, fingering the sleeve closest to him with wide sparkly eyes, “I swear I’ve seen it before.” 

Mark and Doyoung stood under the upper level together, the rest of the class having filed out to rush to their respective places beyond Doyoung’s care. Sometime during the two and a half hour lecture, it had begun to pour rain, streams falling down the cement pillars and puddles forming in the open squares of the mini courtyards between each building block. Doyoung could hear Mark curse just above the rain.

“Did you take the bus today?” Doyoung asked, looking at the younger who was hunched over in an almost defeated stance. Mark shoved his foggy specs up his nose, face scrunching as he stared at the water falling in front of them at an almost torrential rate. 

“ _Yes_ ,” He hissed, more annoyed about the situation than he probably should have been, “And I didn’t bring my umbrella or a coat with a hood. My mom said it wasn’t supposed to rain today when I had grabbed it, so I put it back. I should’ve just ignored her.” 

Doyoung shrugged, thinking about the fact that he had nowhere better to be and no one better to be with, “Want to head to the library for a bit instead? We can do the homework and I’ll buy you a drink at the cafe.” 

Mark seemed to brighten up slightly at that, face softening in the slightest, “Sure, I think I’d like that.” 

Doyoung and Mark hadn’t spent much time together outside of class. Mark was a couple years younger than Doyoung and just as much immature in a way that made it so Doyoung felt the slightest bit odd hanging around him. Still, he found that his company was pleasant as the two sat at one of the scratched wooden tables in the library. The library on campus was nice, up to date and well cared for, however the tables seemed to carry the age of the university itself on their surfaces. Mark was playing with some of the scratches as he spoke, fingers dancing unconsciously over patterns worn from many peoples stories. 

Mark was telling a story about how he and his friends had gone to a party where someone had accidentally lit a curtain on fire and Doyoung was able to find it in him to laugh at the superficially normal story. Mark was a refreshing sort of company for Doyoung, one that Doyoung found himself wanting to be around more often. 

It was when Mark was describing how a drunk frat boy had tried to put out the fire with a mountain dew and vodka filled plastic cup, that an unexpected presence arrived at Doyoung’s shoulder. “Hey, Mark! I thought you’re normally gone by now?”

Doyoung felt himself blink repeatedly from the surprise of the presence, then looking up at the familiarly deep and amiable voice, “Jeno? What are you doing here?” 

Jeno seemed to do the same type of doubletake that Doyoung had and stared for several blank moments before speaking with a frown, “How do you know Mark?”

“How do _you_ know Mark?” Doyoung rebutted, shifting in the wooden seat to stare up at him. Doyoung refused to back down to the younger man, the two staring at each other for a long breath.

“A very different way than you do, by the looks of it,” Jeno finally broke and said simply as he took the seat next to Doyoung, sitting heavily with a grunt, “You’ve got to stop stealing all of my friends.” 

Doyoung snorted, righting himself and looking to see a slightly baffled Mark watching the two. When Mark realized the attention was back on him in a direct manner rather than an ambiguously indirect one, he spoke again, “How do you two know each other?” 

“Jeno’s my little cousin,” Doyoung answered candidly, figuring all the other details could be left out and were far too unnecessary, “What about you two?” 

Mark and Jeno shared a strange look, a long look, a look that Doyoung recognized as the same one Taeil had given Johnny and suddenly too many things clicked in Doyoung’s mind. The question _just how many of you are there_ burned on the tip of his tongue along with the inquiry of _why can’t I just have one thing away from you all_. Doyoung let both stay unanswered. 

“We’re in the same club.” Jeno said finally, looking to Doyoung and Doyoung _knew_ what club that was. He _knew_ the weight behind the word. He _knew_ the perversion of such an innocent phrase. He wanted to curse in that moment. He didn’t though, choosing to smile with tight lips and tired eyes.

“Hey, Marrrrrrrk!” A voice drawled from behind them once again and Doyoung glanced over his shoulder once again to see none other than Jaemin sauntering over, hips swaying like a pleased cat. It seemed nowadays that wherever Jeno was, Jaemin surely would follow like a petal pink shadow. His voice was chirpier when he addressed Doyoung, lacking the juvenile teasing and replaced with a polite familiarity, “And Doyoung!”

“Hello, Jaemin.” Doyoung greeted back equally as polite as the lanky boy slid himself into the seat besides Mark, slinging an arm around the back of his chair. Mark gave him a slightly disgruntled look as he invaded his space, but Jaemin took it with endearment, cooing quietly at the other. Mark didn’t seem to enjoy the response, but Jaemin didn’t seem to care.

“You’re really everywhere now, huh, Doyoung?” Jeno said quietly, but not secretly. If the other two had been paying attention, they would have heard, but instead they were involved in a playful banter that left Jeno and Doyoung in the created privacy. 

“I’m not trying to be,” Doyoung admitted, meeting Jeno’s eyes with what he hoped to appear as a sincere gaze, “I just somehow end up there.” 

Jeno gave a quiet chuckle, deep in his throat, and it startled Doyoung in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Jeno was close, so close Doyoung could smell the distinct mint and sandalwood soap that Jeno used. “It’s no wonder you’re a favorite. You’re so oblivious.” 

“Oblivious?” Doyoung spluttered, glaring down at the younger. Jeno looked his age today; an oversized sweatshirt held in him in a burgundy hug, jean clad legs tucked under him on the seat, and rectangular glasses sliding down the bridge of his strong nose. It was hard for Doyoung, in moments like these, to see Jeno as anything other than the Jeno he helped raise. “I’m oblivious to nothing. I’m quite literally studying to be a journalist, Jeno. Part of the whole point of journalism is to be _observant_.” 

Jeno shrugged, sweatshirt shifting and showing the white tee shirt collar he had on underneath, looking so young it made Doyoung’s chest ache with nostalgia, “If you really believed that, most of the questions you still have would be answered.” With that, Jeno withdrew from the private bubble they’d created, inviting himself into the bickering happening between Mark and Jaemin across from them, leaving Doyoung alone in his own silence. 

Doyoung didn’t return to Taeyong’s that night. He knew it would be impossible for him to stay away from Yuta’s bed and he needed space to clear his mind from some of the sludge that had been collected along the recesses of his conscience. Doyoung needed to regain a slight bit of independence. 

Still, he found himself standing on the steps of their apartment, looking up to the awning that covered the sight of the second story where his family resided. He knew the second he went inside that his mother would be all over him as he hadn’t spent a full night there in what felt like ages. Doyoung had only snuck through his house at night when he knew his parents were asleep or had arrived before they had and hadn’t allowed his presence to be known. Essentially, he was avoiding them completely in a manner far more immature than he should be acting for his age. 

He just hadn’t been ready to face his mother yet, the thought a garrote on his emotions. He knew it hadn’t been her fault for the arrest or for even speaking with the police. He knew his mother was a firm believer in authority and law. He knew she would speak to them again if she had to. He knew she would never hide any of his sins from any form of authority under God. 

That was another reason he had begun to distance himself from her. He knew the deeper in he became with Taeyong, the less he was able to speak to his mother about the life he lived without lying through gritted teeth. He knew he couldn’t keep _everything_ from her and it was easier to create a physical distance than a mental one. Sometimes, the Christain guilt hit deeply as his mother made him sit and pray for whatever she assumed was a lie and Doyoung found himself feeling the weight of disappointing his parents buckling his shoulders. Doyoung wasn’t able to look his mother in the eye and lie every time he spoke to her, the guilt would certainly eat away at his throat like acid and he would eventually spit out the truth.

Still, the doorhandle gave way under his clammy fingers and as he scaled the stairs to his familial home, he couldn’t find the dread within him to stop. 

Entering the apartment was less daunting than Doyoung expected. It smelled of incense and cooking as it always had, and his mother's shoes were set neatly by the door on the shoe rack next to several sets of slippers. His brother and father must be out, anywhere except for the home that felt unusually alien despite him growing up here. That was fine by Doyoung, he convinced himself as he let the warmth of the home bring life back into his chilled limbs. He kicked off his shoes and slipped into his own pair of slippers, shuffling into the apartment itself, still telling himself that _this would be fine_.

“Honey? Is that you?” His mother's voice called through the apartment for her husband, though it sounded distracted and distant, a verbalization of Doyoung’s own existence, “I thought you wouldn’t be home until later.” 

He found his mother in the kitchen, surrounded by the white and yellow decor, wearing her light blue apron that was slightly frayed on one lapel from years of wiping knives in the same spot. She was wearing gloves and mixing what looked to be a type of dough, humming along to a gospel playing from the radio on the windowsill. This felt like something from his childhood, something so familiar and homey yet so incredibly distant from where he was now. Doyoung felt his heart clench and his knuckles tighten into unconsciously clenched fists of discomfort. He wanted to fold in on himself, wanted to curl into a ball and hide from her line of sight. He didn’t, but the desire was there as he continued to look at the sight in front of him.

“Hi, mother,” Doyoung said quietly from beyond the island, dropping his bag onto one of the chairs there. He kept the island between the two, a physical barrier to stand in for the mental one Doyoung was unable to keep up.

His mother turned and Doyoung expected her to rush over and fret over him, though she remained rooted in place, eyes assessing him as though he were an acquaintance rather than her son. Doyoung couldn’t say that that didn’t sting somewhere in his chest, but he beat that emotion down. 

“Doyoungie,” She said slowly, cautiously, as though she were tempting a feral cat into her grasp, “You’re here.” 

“Yes, mother, I’m here.” Doyoung said, shifting his weight nervously. It had dawned on him his mother wasn’t _angry_ , but worried about his safety and the possibility of him disappearing like fog in the sunlight once again. His mother rarely reacted like this, rarely gave him the space to breathe let alone disappear. Doyoung felt an incredibly heavy guilt gnawing at him for the stress he must have put her under. 

“You’ve been gone for so long I figured you’d just moved out without telling us.” His mother's tone was neutral in a way that felt unusually dangerous. She rarely ever used such a tone and it had always been with people that were too removed from her life to get an honest expression of her emotions. Doyoung wanted to cross his arms, wanted to sit down, wanted to move his body in any way that would help dissipate the intense discomfort he was feeling. He stood still, though, hands resting on the island, warming the countertop with stress.

“I’d never do that, mom, I just needed time.” Doyoung said slowly, fingers coming to the edges of the counter, drumming a quiet rhythm to help ground himself, “I was upset and I shouldn’t have been, but I needed time to process that.”

His mother seemed to take that in and nodded, turning back to the dough she was kneading. Her voice was less neutral when she spoke again, but Doyoung couldn’t pinpoint what emotion came from the lilt of her words, “And you are back?” 

“Temporarily.” Doyoung said slowly, equally as cautiously and equally as guarded, “I’m an adult, mother, I think I can handle coming and going as I please. I think I’ve earned that ability.” 

“The least you could do is check in with me so I don’t worry,” She bit back and _that_ stung in a way Doyoung couldn’t ignore, the feeling swallowing him whole. Doyoung nodded dejectedly at her back, voice catching in his throat on every piece of guilt he was swallowing.

It took him a second to be able to respond to her, voice even and far too practiced, “I know. I’m sorry about that. I’ll do better from now on.” 

“You’ve missed a lot of church.” Her tone was terse over that, the topic change was quick enough for Doyoung to get whiplash as her voice was catching onto every syllable with an ice that burned Doyoung’s skin. _That_ was mildly irritating. 

Still, Doyoung was polite, unwilling to give way to any of the frustration building in his chest, “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll go with you this Sunday.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry to me, say you’re sorry to God. Also, I hope you’re making that promise with God because I won’t drag you there.” His mother was still taut as she spoke, words lashing at his skin and leaving invisible welts. The one thing she hadn’t ever been forgiving with had been church and Doyoung had turned the holy day into a normalized sin. 

Doyoung yielded, wanting to avoid the confrontation of his lack of religious practice, knowing that conversation would end with nothing good. “I’m promising it to God, mom. I’m trying, okay?”

It was a tense, long moment before she seemed to break down finally, shoulders melting slightly, movements less robotic as she went back to folding the dough repeatedly. “Doyoung,” She spoke softly into the empty space between the two, “I’m worried about you. Have you been doing okay?” 

“Yes, mother,” Doyoung insisted to her back and he wondered why he hadn’t sat down yet even as he knew this conversation would be a long one. He was realizing slowly that his body was poised to run, that he had been unconsciously searching for any way to escape at the first sign of danger. “I’ve been okay.” 

“No, Doyoung,” She stressed, turning around suddenly, “Are you _doing okay_?”

It dawned on Doyoung suddenly what she was referencing and he stuttered for a moment, “I’m-I-Mother, why are you bringing that up?”

“I’m worried about you, Doyoung. Have you spoken to Dr. Kang recently?”

“Mother, it’s been four years since I last saw her,” Doyoung felt his throat closing up as he was becoming trapped and suddenly the escape route was looking more and more appealing, “Mom, I don’t need to see her anymore.” 

“Have you thought about trying again? The medication?” Doyoung shoved himself back from the counter and his mother suddenly deflated, “I’m just concerned, Doyoungie. I’m just-”

“I’m not a fucking lunatic,” Doyoung snapped, snatching his bag from the chair, “I haven’t even had a single episode since the last time I saw Dr. Kang, I haven’t even thought I needed to. I can’t believe you’re even insisting that there’s something going on. I’m _recovered_.”

His mother looked as though she were struggling with something far more than just this conversation, but Doyoung felt his chest constricting with the lies he was telling and the frustration of everything and the fact that _yes, he had thought about it_. 

“Doyoungie, you’ve been so reserved and closed off and you’re tired all of the time and you’re always snappy. I’m just worried that- that you’re not recognizing your symptoms.” 

“ _My symptoms?_ ” Doyoung repeated, voice shrill and tired, so tired, _so bone tired_ , “I’m not having symptoms! You’re completely misinterpreting and undermining my emotions right now.” 

There was a strange contention in the room, one that made Doyoung’s chest ache and a stinging form in the center of his eyes. “I am just wondering, is all.” His mother finally conceded, turning back to her dough. “Seeing a psychiatrist again isn’t a negative thing, Doyoung. It could always be beneficial.”

_Psychiatrist_. Doyoung didn’t like hearing that title and the implications behind it. _Therapist_ was easier to swallow, easier to convince himself that it was someone he visited willingly and comfortably to untangle the knots of his mind rather than a judicial visit to beat the problems from him by force.

Doyoung didn’t respond, didn’t feel the need to. He knew nothing he would continue saying would be the truth. He _had_ thought about going back to see Dr. Kang again. He _had_ thought about using her number and seeing if it still worked. He _had_ considered inquiring as to if she would take him as a patient once again, except this time older and with far more trauma to unravel. 

Instead of replying to his mother in a conversation that should’ve been buried in the backyard next to the radishes, Doyoung headed for his bedroom. It was unkempt in a tidy way: the pile of dirty clothing was neat and next to the hamper, his towel tossed over the back of his desk chair, his bed slightly mused from where he had last crawled from it and half tossed the duvet back in place, two old water glasses sat on the nightstand bone dry, and his closet door was half open. Overall, it was exactly as he had left it the last time he had spent the night here. Somehow this room felt more nostalgic than it did familiar, evoking a resonating aching in the chambers of his heart that he wasn’t sure he wanted to unpack yet. He shuffled into his room, dropping his bag on his desk and himself on the bed. 

It took him the better part of an hour before he was able to drag himself to his desk and fish out the notebook he had started his data collection in. 

_Lee Taeyong, Boss: Leader, founder, head._   
_Johnny Suh, Youngho: Side-man(?), husband, co-founder_   
_Nakamoto Yuta, Utah: Thug(?),????, best friend(?)_   
_Vision, V: mercenaries, members unknown_   
_??? Jungwoo, Rose: Brothel????_   
_????, J: Drugs?????_   
_Dream???: a runner???_

_What a pathetic start_ , Doyoung thought as he realized he hadn’t updated it since the very first entry. Now was as good a time as any, he figured, to update his information. 

_Lee Taeyong, “Boss”: Formed what was initially a small crime gang in his youth as a side business venture. Exact reasons unknown. Highly intelligent and seems to be omnipotent (I know it’s not possible but...this man is something else entirely). I still have no idea what he does in his daily life or where he goes when he leaves the house. He’s very private and good at hiding everything._   
_Johnny Suh, “Youngho”: He is the backbone from what I understand. Everything Taeyong does is because it is encouraged and supported by Johnny. Johnny enjoys playing what seems to be a passive role in everything (I don’t know if he truly is an active or inactive force yet). Johnny seems to be the one to check in on and check in with all the other members and keeps tabs on everyone. Works as a lawyer in his daily life (lol ironic)._   
_Nakamoto Yuta, “Utah”: Handles all of the brute force, intimidation, and overall the more aggressive of the three founders. Has been with Taeyong practically from the start. The two feed off of each other, supporting each others worst traits but also their best. A strange dynamic. Oddly has become my “home base”, for lack of a better term. Works as a grocery store manager._   
_Ten (there’s no way that’s his full real name, but if it’s anything different I haven’t been told it), “Kitty”: Ten from what I’ve heard is the main mercenary that Taeyong was able to snag into his business and make his favorite assassin under Vision. I’ve also heard that he’s married to a cop but that’s...a little more confusing. I don’t know much about him and I don’t really know if I will hear anything more but he felt like he needed his own section in the article._   
_Jungwoo, “Rose”: I’ve barely met him, but I’ve learned more. Apparently, he is a drag queen and runs the prostitution ring. I don’t think he has anything to do with the sex trafficking that’s happening, though. In fact, I’m not sure that Taeyong’s group has anything to do with it at all._   
_Jaehyun, “Valentine”: I had originally thought Jaehyun’s nickname was “Jae” or “J” but as that turns out it’s just his literal nickname and not, like, his codename. Valentine. What an odd nickname. He’s the drug lord but he also helps Yuta a lot with his more violent tasks. I don’t know what their relationship is, but there’s some odd history there that I have been working on unravelling. Jaehyun and Jungwoo live together. I don’t know much about Jaehyun, but he seems nice enough, completely unassuming._   
_Dream: I will not be addressing these members any further than I already have. They’re runners and they’re all literal kids. I won’t implicate or connect them in any crimes in any way. In my article they will be referred to as a group or as a single letter used for each member as a pseudonym._   
_Note: Taeyong handcrafted this entire underground crime ring for some reason that isn’t making sense yet. It almost feels like he was just bored one day and decided that this was the spice he needed. I still don’t understand how he was able to take people with respectable career paths and futures and convince them to join a gang, but he was able to. He’s different than I thought he would be; he’s so much more relaxed and leisurely. Being around him feels weirdly like being with someone who has read your whole life story, like he knows exactly what’s going to happen next and when you die and he’s not concerned in the slightest. He named a gang Empathy, for fucks sake. He’s a strange, strange man. I look forward to being able to update again with more information._

Doyoung heaved himself back to his bed, falling into the familiar smelling covers. He hadn’t been initiated for all that long, yet life felt so different already. It was strange how alienated he felt from his life, from his family. It felt like he was viewing everything through a picture album as though he were a guest privileged to have a slight insight of their life. Doyoung no longer felt like he belonged in his _life_. Doyoung felt as though there wasn’t much else to take away from him, though he was certain Taeyong would always be able to find more. He was certain that no part of his life would be untouched by that man by the time he was able to wriggle away from his grasp. He had a feeling there currently wasn’t any part of his life that Taeyong hadn’t already been involved in, hadn’t already tied strings to that he held just to watch Doyoung chase them. The question, Doyoung thought, was how much would be left for him in the end and how much would be completely turned to ash in front of him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,,,,wait for it,,,,,,,,,,,


	11. Still Haunt My Today (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon’s treasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,,,,and here it is. ugh i’m so happy to have gotten into some DoTae territory even though this is a very untraditional dotae dynamic haha anyways important note at the end! and as always, enjoy~
> 
> [TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of religious based homophobia in this chapter!]

Doyoung stayed all the way until Sunday and attended church with his mother as he had promised. After that, though, Doyoung had found his way back to Taeyong’s. As he was sitting outside of the familiar house with the picturesque yard and porch swing, Doyoung contemplated going back to his family’s house and remaining there until Johnny or Yuta told him his presence was required again. Doyoung thought about turning the car back on and heading back home and leaving this life in his rearview mirror until it was no longer avoidable. 

He didn’t. 

Instead he moved to the porch as though he were trudging through three layers of melted metals and pushed the door open. Taeyong was in the kitchen when he shuffled in, baking what looked to be cookies. 

Taeyong glanced to him over his shoulder, surprise overtaking his features momentarily before a smile curved his lips. It wasn’t quite a mischievous look, but Doyoung couldn’t say it was a _genuine_ expression either. “I thought you were Johnny. I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon.”

Doyoung shrugged, honesty dripping from his tongue unusually easily in front of the man, “There was nothing for me at home.”

Taeyong hummed as he turned back to the bowl of dough he was stirring chocolate chips into. “Yuta isn’t here right now. He’s staying with Jaehyun and Jungwoo for a few days.”

“Are you implying there’s nothing for me here, either?” Doyoung couldn’t help but ask, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. He felt oddly exposed suddenly, but also there was an undertone of craving to his words. He was seeking a validation from Taeyong that he hadn’t received at home. He had been told over and over and _over_ how he was Taeyong’s newest favorite and he wanted the man to prove it. 

Taeyong shook his head, white hair limp against his head and a fond expression lacing his features. Doyoung wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Taeyong look so _soft_ before and he wasn’t sure he’d ever see it again, so he allowed himself to study every detail of the cracked stone facade to memory. “Not at all. I’m here, after all.” 

Doyoung wasn’t sure what to make of that comment or what Taeyong was truly implying with it and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to unpack everything inside of the box that was Taeyong’s intentions. So, he changed the topic and avoided his problems in a way he was often good at. He jerked his head towards the bowl Taeyong had been focused on when he entered, “What are you making?” 

“Chocolate chip and toffee cookies. Sit down while I get them on the tray. I get the feeling you want to talk about something.” Sitting down didn’t sound like a suggestion so Doyoung didn’t take it as one. As he sat down at the island, he thought about Taeyong’s words and wondered if there was actually something weighing on him that he could talk to Taeyong about. Was there anything he wanted to discuss with this man? Was there anything he could actually trust with him? He wasn’t sure. Taeyong confused him a lot of the time. He seemed to function on a level that told everyone around them that he could read minds. Doyoung wondered if it would be any good to talk to someone like that or if it was all pointless since Taeyong seemed to be able to read him as easily as a magazine. 

Still, Doyoung couldn’t find a way out of such a conversation and figured he could find something to discuss with the man in the silence of a house void of anyone but them. 

There was a nagging curiosity as to why Yuta was gone again. The last time he had returned slightly jaded and very tired, seeming less like he had spent time in a cottage in the woods and more like he had gone through five rounds in the ring with Jaehyun as a sparring partner. Doyoung didn’t ask, though, a better part of him knowing that he wouldn’t like Taeyong’s answer. There was a persistent interest, though, as to whether Taeyong would tell him the truth or not. Doyoung wasn’t able to get a read on Taeyong, no matter how many times he tried. Part of him thought that Taeyong would always tell him the truth, or at least some variation of it, in order to keep him coming back for more information every time. Another part of him thought that Taeyong would lie on any question asked in order to keep him so far in the dark that he had no choice but to rely on him for light. Both pathways seemed completely plausible and Doyoung wasn’t sure which he would prefer from the man, so he chose to avoid the conundrum entirely. 

Doyoung drug himself from his thoughts, watching Taeyong bend over to put the cookies in the oven. He jointed at his hips, back straight and shirt unwrinkled. Doyoung wasn’t sure why that seemed important in his mind, but something about the way he moved was fascinating to Doyoung. When he straightened, he immediately wiped his hands on his apron, both cleaning them and straightening the fabric in a single motion. It was precise, neat, and almost regal for such a normal swooping motion. _That_ was why Doyoung was studying him, he realized. Taeyong moved in a way that way awfully royal in aura, giving the air around him the taste of gold and wealth; the sense of self-assuredness rolling off of him was the kind that royalty carried in the grand halls of million dollar castles. Taeyong carried eras worth of regard within the set of his shoulders and the curve of his eyebrows. Taeyong was every bit a king as he was a man. 

Doyoung watched as he slipped the apron from his neck and dropped it carelessly onto a hook by the entryway. Without a word, he waved Doyoung after him, socked feet silent against the hardwood as he disappeared into the living room. Doyoung followed, well trained and obedient. 

Taeyong had already curled up on the couch with his feet tucked by his butt, by the time Doyoung had entered the room, dark eyes looking towards him expectantly. Doyoung sat on the opposite end of the couch, the recliner and sitting chair seeming too distant, but the end of the couch also feeling far too close to Taeyong for comfort. Still, Taeyong seemed pleased by his choice and gave him a preening smile in response. 

“So, Doyoung, what is on your mind?” Taeyong’s tone was conversational, but Doyoung knew this wasn’t a friendly chat. He knew he wouldn’t be leaving the room until he gave Taeyong _something_. Taeyong wanted a form of payment in his favorite kind of currency: information.

Doyoung was not one to be able to wriggle himself from conversations such as this, so he found himself fidgeting against the couch as his mind whirred in attempts to find a piece of himself he was willing to let Taeyong dissect for fun. Finally, he settled on a partial truth, “I’ve been thinking a lot about Yuta.” 

Taeyong hummed, expression far too open for the kind of closed off he was. Doyoung knew the relaxed set of his shoulders and the warmness of his eyes were all an illusion, but maybe this once he would indulge in it. “Hm, yes, I’ve noticed you two are rather close.” 

Doyoung shifted, crossing and uncrossing his legs before finally pulling them up on the couch in a similar manner to Taeyong. He leaned against the arm of the couch, opening his chest to the man, both literally and figuratively, and began speaking again, “I didn’t think we would become as close as we did.”

“Yes,” Taeyong hummed again, intrigue and honesty lacing his voice in a way that Doyoung couldn’t find to be faked no matter how much he mulled it over, “I didn’t expect that either. It was a rather _unexpected_ turn of events, honestly. I thought you would be far more drawn to Johnny than you are.” 

Doyoung felt his neck heating and suddenly his sweater was stifling. His fingers played with the hems of his shirt as he tried not to think about the other night and the feeling of Johnny’s hands and Johnny’s lips and Taeyong’s eyes. “Johnny’s married,” Doyoung finally said, voice catching only barely on the breath that came with it, “To _you_. Of course I wouldn’t be more interested.” 

Taeyong laughed, throaty and full, “I’ve never stopped Johnny from having whoever he likes. It’s more fun that way.”

Doyoung shifted uncomfortably again, eyes having made their way to the coffee table and not leaving. Sometimes looking at Taeyong was the most overwhelming part of being around the man. “Anyways,” He attempted to control the runaway train that was this conversation, “I just don’t think that Yuta and I having something serious is anything good. I thought we were going to make good friends, but I’m just not so sure anymore.” 

Taeyong chuckled again, deep in his chest this time, a vibrating sound that sent a peculiar shiver over the back of his neck, “In this line of work, everything is for pleasure. Stop worrying so much, dear, you’ll age far too quickly. No one said anything about a serious relationship. If you want to just fuck him on occasion with no strings attached, I guarantee that’s right up Yuta’s alley.”

“Is that what he had with Jaehyun?” Doyoung couldn’t help but ask, curiosity boiling over. He quickly added, “He won’t talk to me about Jaehyun. Everytime he comes up he gets angry and defensive and aggressive, but then he won’t tell me anything. But then he goes and stays over at his house and goes drinking with him and it’s very confusing.” 

“They’re very confusing,” Taeyong agreed with an almost wistful tone in his words, “However, Jaehyun isn’t much of a threat to you, Doyoung.”

“I’m not really worried about him being a _threat_ , I’m just curious more than anything. Yuta won’t talk to me about him and Jaehyun is far too distant for me to ask him. I’m just really curious on how they got to where they are and why Yuta holds a grudge.” 

Taeyong seemed to mull over the idea of telling Doyoung their back story and for a moment Doyoung regretted asking. “Well,” Taeyong said slowly, “They were in a relationship for a while. An actual relationship. I actually thought they were going to get married, if I’m being honest. Yuta seemed really ready to settle down with him, but Jaehyun seemed to hold some reservations. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t know what their big fight was about, but I know they’d had smaller ones. The two were competitive -and still very much are- and they got into a lot of squabbles. I always figured they were things they would work over on their own and move on. I guess at one point it finally was too much and they had a huge blowout and ended their relationship. Yuta holds onto that. He feels like Jaehyun threw everything away over nothing, but he refuses to apologize for anything. Jaehyun won’t ever come back to Yuta because Yuta won’t apologize. The two are stubborn and competitive. It’s kind of ridiculous from the outside, but both of them were really hurt by the other. Now they are what you see. They’re competitive and they fight a lot but they work so well as a team you’d never be able to guess their sour history.”

Doyoung soaked the information in, storing it away for later. He would have to go back through and think about all of the interactions he had seen between the two and see further interactions to corroborate Taeyong’s story. He didn’t fully trust the man at the best of times and when receiving such personal information on one of Taeyong’s closest friends, Doyoung was a bit more than suspicious. “That all makes sense.”

“Now, you owe me a story.” Taeyong said cheerfully, the atmosphere lightening to the point of asphyxiation as he sucked the oxygen from the room. 

“I owe you a story?” Doyoung repeated, clarifying. 

“Yes,” Taeyong insisted, smiling brightly, “You owe me a story in return for the story that I told you. It’s only fair.” 

Doyoung couldn’t deny that he had expected this, had expected Taeyong to demand a form of payment. He could provide a story. “A story about what?” 

“Tell me a story about your mother.” Taeyong said simply, picking at the couch as though he were asking about the weather. 

Doyoung paused momentarily, thinking. “Any story? Or are you looking for a specific story?” 

“Tell me a story that hurts you.” Taeyong’s tone was so light, so airy, it felt like Doyoung was standing on the top of a mountain. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen to his brain, wasn’t _breathing_ enough and it was all because Taeyong’s presence took over every ounce of air in the room. 

Still, Doyoung found himself sorting through his memories. A story that hurts. He glanced at Taeyong, who was still smiling to himself in a content way, and wondered if it was a smart idea to tell Taeyong about a wound he had barely been able to shut with a rusty needle and sewing thread. Taeyong was dangerous and giving him fragile information sounded like he was just begging for punishment. There was a comfort in the idea, though, that Doyoung hadn’t expected to find. What could Taeyong possibly do with information that hurt him? Taeyong already had control of his life in every aspect, what was opening an old wound to let him prod around in it for entertainment going to do?

“A story that hurts me,” Doyoung repeated, voice quiet yet lyrical, “Okay.” 

Taeyong waited on baited breath, eyes glowing in the dim lighting. It was now that Doyoung understood why Taeyong ran the business he did, why Taeyong was able to find out the information he had, how Taeyong was able to do the things he did. Taeyong _loved_ this. He loved the power he had over people, he loved watching them writhe and loved watching them peel off the layers they had formed to protect themselves. He loved watching the rawest parts of humanity and he loved dragging them out and he loved controlling them. 

Doyoung sighed heavily, shoulders shaking slightly, “Okay, I have a story. It’s not a very interesting one, but it hurts, so it’s what you’re looking for.” Taeyong swallowed visibly as his adam’s apple bobbed, attention solely on Doyoung. “I figured out I was gay when I was young. Really young. Barely a preteen young. I discovered it when I was in a service with my mother and the preacher went on a tirade about sinning and how being gay was essentially a sin because it was giving into the temptations of flesh and unholy desires. I’d gone home and asked my mother to explain what _gay_ meant, considering I’d never heard it before. It was funny because before that I hadn’t thought it was strange that I had considered other guys my age attractive or that I’d had crushes on my school teachers. It never struck me as anything but _normal_. That changed, obviously. That conversation led to years of me praying nightly to change, to have some epiphany that I liked women. I begged God to fix me if he loved me. Obviously nothing changed. It took me until I was a teenager to accept the fact that it wasn’t changing and there was nothing wrong with me.” 

Doyoung paused, shoulders shaking with trembling breaths and Taeyong was eating the story whole. “So, your story is childhood homophobia?” 

Doyoung shook his head, paused, then nodded. “Kind of. That’s not the story, not really. That’s the build up to the story.”

Taeyong made a noise that said he understood, a subtle eagerness to his tone when he spoke, “So I’m getting more?” 

Doyoung nodded, swallowing the shards of glass that had formed in his throat before continuing on, “So, fast forward to when I’m a teenager. I was maybe sixteen or seventeen when I decided to come out to my mother. I figured she’d love me no matter what. She’s my mom, right? That won’t change just because I happen to be attracted to men, right? Well, I wasn’t necessarily _wrong_. I sat her down one day after our mid-week church service. I decided to just be honest and tell her that I liked other boys and that was that. She was weirdly quiet after I told her, almost like she was in shock. It took her a few minutes to respond and I figured it could either go super good or super bad. It didn’t really go either way, though. At least, not like I thought it would. Instead she just _laughed_. Then she told me I’d find a nice woman to marry and then went off to make dinner. That almost hurt more than violent homophobia. It was like this dismissal of who I was, this complete disregard. I was expecting her to lash out, to call me names, maybe even kick me out. I was expecting her to tell me she loved and accepted me no matter what and that I was made in God’s image. I wasn’t expecting her to just…”

Doyoung stopped and Taeyong seemed pacified by the story, attention solely on Doyoung in the fading light. When Doyoung was silent for longer than a minute, Taeyong added, “Sometimes the complete lack of regard for who you are as a person hurts far more than someone aggressively challenging you.” 

Doyoung nodded slowly, swallowing roughly, “It’s still weird to this day when I bring a boyfriend home or when I go on dates. She still mentions my future wife and I still mention my future husband. There’s a gap when we talk about the future a lot of the times, one where we avoid marriage and discussions of children. Those conversations never really go anywhere.”

“How was seeing her this past week?” Taeyong pressed, obviously keen on dissecting the entirety of Doyoung’s relationship with his mother by this point. 

Doyoung found himself letting Taeyong do so. It was almost cathartic to expel all of it to someone who was genuinely interested, even if for all the wrong reasons. “It was weird. My brother talked to me a lot and my dad asked me for updates and made small talk. My mother fretted over me a lot, like she always does. She was also weirdly distant. Ever since she ratted me out to the cops she’s been far more distant. She has a lot of opinions on a lot of things and I don’t know exactly where her opinions are of _me_ , if that makes sense. So, it’s weird. It’s weird having someone fret so much while not caring all at once. It’s like she cares about me only as her son, but not as a person. So, it was weird. It was awkward. To be honest, I couldn’t wait to escape. I don’t think I realized how suffocating that house was until I wasn’t spending every waking moment in it.” 

Taeyong absorbed every word as though he were getting high and Doyoung almost found himself regretting opening up to the man. He didn’t regret it, though, not really. It felt nice to finally release some of the thoughts that had been rattling around in his mind for years, specifically to someone he knew wouldn’t judge him. He had never talked to his therapist or his friends about the internalized homophobia he faced growing up. None of them would understand nor would any of them be able to relate. It felt slightly freeing to release that out of his mind, to be able to live without that just hiding in the recesses of the darkest parts of his conscience. 

“Doyoung, will you answer a question for me?” Taeyong asked suddenly, looking unearthly in the lighting. The sun was almost beneath the horizon, orange toned light bleeding in through the open curtains and creating angles on his face that weren’t there normally. Taeyong looked like someone who was hand-carved from the finest of stones, facial features far too strong and far too perfect to be made of something as organic and disposable as flesh.

“What’s the question?” Doyoung asked cautiously, voice teetering between nervous and curious as he watched the shifting shadows on the other man’s face.

“What do you think happens after death?” Taeyong’s voice was slow, almost as cautious as Doyoung had been. It was obvious the question was a genuine one, probably something Taeyong had thought a lot about. It was odd, Doyoung thought, to experience this. Taeyong was someone who seemed immortal, ageless, timeless. He seemed as though he had no expiration date and seemed as though he had no creation date. Taeyong seemed like someone above the laws of time. It was odd for Doyoung to think about the fact that death was something Taeyong thought about. 

“Do you mean like the afterlife or what?” Doyoung asked after a beat, letting the question hang in the air like an omen of the times to come. 

“Do you believe in Heaven and Hell? Or reincarnation? Or just bleak nothingness for eternity?” Taeyong’s voice was a little more urgent as he spoke this, something about the details being more stressful than the actual thought. 

“I think there’s a Heaven and Hell. I mean, I was raised to believe that. I think that we get the choice to come back if we really want to.” Doyoung wasn’t sure what Taeyong was looking for in his answer, but he didn’t seem to find it. 

“Where do you think people like me go?” Taeyong was being honest, _so_ honest Doyoung almost forgot the life surrounding the man next to him, almost forgot the circumstances they had met under. 

“I’m not sure,” Doyoung said, just as honestly, “I don’t have the answer for that. I like to think that God is forgiving and loving and that, so long as you feel guilt, that he would grant you access to Heaven. I like to think that God loves his children more than he loves vengeance. I like to think that he would rather heal us than punish us. I like to think all of that because if not, I would never be getting into Heaven.” 

Taeyong hummed lowly, looking far more distant than the space on the couch allowed him to be. When he spoke, it was so careful, so sincere, that Doyoung could feel his heart palpitate in an almost aching way that left him feeling slightly breathless, “The thought of death is unnerving, but immortality is far more terrifying. I just worry, sometimes, that after death I will have to rest the same way I lived. If reincarnation is real, I think in my next life I would like something quiet. If we only get this chance, I pray that my death is more peaceful than my life.” 

“You chose this, though, didn’t you?” Doyoung couldn’t help but ask, the question lingering on the tip of his tongue. 

Taeyong didn’t seem perturbed by the answer, rather like he had been expecting it. Taeyong nodded slowly, wistful thoughtfulness smoothening his expression into something almost placid. “Yeah,” Taeyong admitted, “And I don’t regret it, not in the slightest. It’s been the most entertaining line of life I could have chosen, but I do wish that in death I can have something less exciting.”

Doyoung wasn’t sure what to think about that confession. There was a lot to unpack, a lot to digest, but Doyoung wasn’t sure he really wanted to sift through the meaning of Taeyong’s words. Instead he just made a soft agreeance, and looked to the dulling world outside being swallowed by night and a waxing crescent moon. It was going to be a dark night tonight, but Doyoung thought he would be able to see so many stars if not for the city's light pollution. Something about that felt poetically relatable, though he wasn’t able to pinpoint how. “I think I wish for the same thing. I think I’ve had enough excitement for this eternity.”

“Didn’t you choose this?” Taeyong sang back, repeating Doyoung’s own sentiment to him in a tone equally as interested. 

Doyoung flinched, the words striking something icy and painful in his chest. His hand subconsciously rubbed the area where his heart was threatening to give out with the strange rhythm it had formed. Doyoung _hadn’t_ chosen this, was the problem. He had had quiet plans for a quiet life. _This_ was nothing he chose. Still, he said, “I guess I did.” 

The silence that followed was heavier than Taeyong’s presence and that just made Doyoung sink further into the couch, feeling stressed and uncomfortable once again. Doyoung wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but it was long enough for Taeyong to disappear into the kitchen to take the cookies from the oven and fill the house with the scent of baked goods. 

When Taeyong plopped back down on the couch it was with a wide grin and a far less passive expression than before, the tension from before transforming into something completely new, “Do you want to see something that was entirely my choice?” 

Doyoung felt his expression twisting before he could control it and tucked his chin back, “What are you talking about?” 

“I have a dragon tattoo,” Taeyong said simply, “Wanna see it?” 

Doyoung was curled into the sheets of his borrowed bed, tucked beneath the warmth of the heavy duvet and ignoring the world around him. Taeyong _did_ show him his dragon tattoo, one in a faded red ink similar to henna and old burn marks, and Doyoung had stared with incredulous eyes at the expanse of Taeyong’s smooth and flat stomach where the head lived just below his belly button. Taeyong had offered to show him the rest of the tattoo that dipped beneath his pants-line, but at that Doyoung had panicked and headed into the kitchen under the guise of wanting to try a cookie. 

The evening had gone unusually well after that, something far more casual with Taeyong than he had expected, but welcomed nonetheless. Johnny had returned at some point when the moon was high enough to not be visible from the living room window, meanwhile Yuta did not. Doyoung had eventually retired to the spare room full of his clothes and crawled, boneless and spineless, into the comfort of something familiar in a horrible way.

Doyoung felt his body melting into the covers, felt his mind drifting away from his grasp. He let himself be consumed by a deep sleep for the first time since he had gone home. 

That night he dreamed. It was an odd dream, one that was slightly blurry like plastic left on a hot surface. It melted together and the visuals were almost indescribable, but the contents of the dream were seared into Doyoung’s mind. There was a dragon, one sitting high on a throne made of bones and gold, with white scales that shimmered with iridescence in the dim lighting of the cave. This dragon spoke, but when it spoke it was in riddles in a throaty voice that sounded familiar in a way that Doyoung couldn’t place. 

It asked if Doyoung was happy. Doyoung couldn’t answer.

It asked if Doyoung was honest. Doyoung couldn’t answer.

It asked if Doyoung was living. Doyoung couldn’t answer. 

The dream ended when the dragon slithered from its throne with bared teeth and prepared to swallow Doyoung whole. 

When Doyoung awoke, he made himself forget the dream. 

Doyoung had a single lecture today, the other having been cancelled due to the professor being sick. Doyoung didn’t mind it. He felt exhausted, physically and mentally, and would have preferred to just stay in bed all day anyways.

By the time the lecture finished, Doyoung felt as though he was unable to keep his eyes open for any longer than a few minutes, the idea of driving home an actual nightmare. He made his way to the cafe located on the farthest end of the campus near the parking lot and biology centers, hoping a simple black coffee would wake him up enough to make it back to Taeyong’s in one piece. 

The barista was nice and worked quickly, the order easy, and within minutes Doyoung was sat on a bench overlooking the parking lot, sipping coffee that steamed the chilly autumn air. 

“Doyoung?” A voice asked from the side, drawing him from the blankness that was his mind. 

She was a pretty woman, petite and colorful in the dull autumn light with a sheet of sleek ginger hair and a teal peacoat. Doyoung nodded slowly, not knowing who she was and cautious of strangers approaching him. “Can I help you?”

“You have a side job, don’t you?” She said slowly, still polite and distant, but there was something about the way she spoke that was unnerving to Doyoung. 

“I’m an intern, yes.” Doyoung grabbed his messenger bag, suddenly more than slightly uncomfortable with the woman. He stood slowly, eyes never leaving the woman. 

“Not that,” She said, taking a few steps towards Doyoung, who in turn stepped back as well, “I know about it _all_.”

Doyoung’s heart was in his throat as he walked backwards, knees weakened and mind short circuiting, “I don’t know what you’re talking about but please leave me alone.”

It was then that Doyoung backed into someone, someone taller and broader than him and he looked back to find a man much larger than him having appeared from what felt like nothing. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Doyoung.” She hadn’t dropped the kindness, he voice sickeningly sweet as the man wrapped Doyoung in a tight grip and covered his mouth with a cloth. Logically, Doyoung knew not to breathe in and that there was inevitably a drug covering the fabric, but instinctively he panicked and inhaled as he thrashed. Something sweet filled his senses and slowly his body succumbed to the limpness of pre-existing exhaustion and chloroform that burned his nose. “I hope you don’t mind coming with us for a bit, Mr. Kim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so!!! while i was away i ended up planning the ending which i had been stuck on since i began writing this story, so i’m excited to finally have an end goal in mind. that being said i’ve decided that this will have somewhere between 15-20 chapters, but i’m not 100% sure yet, so we are /about/ halfway through!!!  
> the next chapter is going to be interesting because there’s going to be a POV switch up again *wiggles eyebrows* i’m really excited for it and i hope you guys like it!!!  
> i’m going to try and get back onto a regular updating schedule now that i have everything in place, so thank you for being patient with me during all of this!!


	12. Black Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my goddddd i swear time doesn't exist for me anymore. 
> 
> anyways, this is another /different/ chapter and i hope you like it! we finally get to see another dynamic and also several POVs i have long awaited to write in! 
> 
> i hope you enjoy<3<3<3

Some mornings Ten awakens and feels like he is no more than a chalk outline on the pavement outside of a house he never lived in. Others he awoke feeling like he could crush cement with his fists. This morning, however, he woke to the sun rays climbing through thin veil curtains and the heavy feeling of something anchoring him both to the bed and to reality. 

His husband's arm was draped comfortably over the lowest part of his chest, fingertips cold against his ribs, snores light and airy and more of heavy breathing than anything. Kun was barely covered with the duvet he had shoved half down the bed, entangled in his legs, leaving Ten and he exposed to the world. Ten simply shifted closer to Kun’s body, feeling the warmth of his chest through what little space was left between them. For sixteen years Ten had been dealing with this. He no longer found it in him to mind the chill of the morning room knowing that the cause was the man sleeping next to him. 

Ten often thought about the fact that he and Kun had spent a better half of their lives together, meeting in their mid-teens and somehow fashioning a full life out of the scraps they’d been tossed. Ten was grateful, ever so grateful for whatever coincidences had led to their meeting. Kun insisted it was the work of the celestial beings he prayed sporadically to, but Ten thought things just happened to line up in the way they were meant to. Either way, where they were _now_ was where Ten wished they’d never _leave_. 

With that thought, Ten’s phone vibrated on the nightstand where it was still attached to the charger. He ignored it, choosing to fish around for the comforter with his feet, attempting to wiggle it back up his body. When the vibrations stopped, there was only a moment of silence before the soft buzzing sound continued. After three more rounds of calls and Ten figuring out that Kun had the comforter pinned to the bed, he decided peace was no longer an option. 

Struggling gently from his husband’s grasp, he snatched his phone from the plug and left the room, knowing there was only one reason he would be getting back to back calls like this. 

Ten was slightly surprised to see Johnny’s name lighting up the screen, but he still answered with a sharp tone, “ _What do you want_?” 

“Doyoung’s missing,” Johnny answered curtly, voice strained and sounding more than a little stressed, “And Taeyong isn’t _happy_.”

As if to prove his words, there was a loud crashing in the background that made Ten flinch the phone from his ear, that was quickly followed by the sound of Taeyong and who Ten assumed was Yuta, shouting at each other. 

“How do you know he’s missing and didn’t just go home without telling you?” Ten asked suspiciously, kicking the leg of his stubby office chair. 

“The school campus found his car still there and they called his mother and his mother called the police station and Taeil called Taeyong. Taeil told his mother that it was too early to file a police report in order to get her off of his back and that he probably just went home with a friend in the evening and to call back in two days if he still hadn’t arrived, which seemed to work. Taeil had Mark look into tracking his GPS but Mark said the phone’s off. We’ve obviously run into a few dead ends.” Johnny sounded _different_ , Ten thought. A little more reserved in the words he chose, the emotions he expressed. Johnny was usually fairly easy to read for Ten, but now it seemed as though he was speaking in a language so similar to what Ten could understand but it _just wasn’t comprehensible_. 

“What’s so different about this for you?” Ten asked slowly, voice far more level and indistinguishable in tone. “You sound off.” 

Johnny paused and in that pause Ten could hear a lot of what he wasn’t saying: he cared, Taeyong cared, Yuta cared. Maybe not for the right reasons and not in the ways that someone _should_ care, but there was something about Doyoung that had planted his presence into the trio of sharks. “I feel responsible for him.”

Ten hummed, long and low and teasing, “How so?” 

Johnny cleared his throat and Ten could hear his steps and the way he shut a door almost silently and in that moment that they were finally alone, Johnny’s shell cracked. “Taeyong brought him on for _me_. I haven’t been able to figure out how or why yet, but the way Taeyong acts about him is strange to say the least. Taeyong has never been this _involved_. It’s like every direction I look I find a new way he’s dug his fingers into Doyoung’s past and drudged it to the present. I just- I don’t know. Look, I feel weird about it. About everything. There’s a lot Taeyong isn’t telling me about Doyoung. Now, he’s potentially missing and I feel _guilty_ for this.”

Ten let his best friend vent, let him spill the thoughts that had clearly been plaguing him for a while now. Ten mulled over his words and let his mind tear them apart. _There’s things Taeyong isn’t telling Johnny about Doyoung_ , was the most shocking thought Ten had. Taeyong rarely kept secrets from Johnny and they were never _big_. Whatever he was hiding about Doyoung was severe enough that he knew Johnny would have had a complaint or two about.

“Are you guys genuinely concerned that he is missing?” Ten asked for clarification, praying Johnny would say no. He wanted to spend the morning in bed with Kun after he had worked on his days off. Ten wanted to bask in the warmth of love and ignore the fact that he lived a complete farce of a life in front of Kun. 

“Yes,” Johnny said with far too much breath, the sound tired and almost pitiful, “He’s never been out of reach and he’s never just disappeared like this.”

Ten sighed, the sound carrying the weight of a pining heart and a disappointment far deeper than that of a lonely spouse. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

Arriving at Taeyong’s house felt like arriving at a mortuary. At least, to Ten it did. The house was too neat on the outside, too perfectly kept and unusually _homey_. Ten thought that about every suburban house, but Taeyong’s felt _patronizing_. Walking the steps to the house, Ten couldn’t help but feel the ache in his chest begging him to go back and curl into bed with his husband and just ignore Taeyong’s phone calls. He couldn’t do that, though. 

The door handle was hot in his hand, or perhaps Ten was imagining the burn as a warning sign for him to run, a warning sign about the fire hiding behind the door threatening to burn down everything in its path. Ten ignored that warning sign as he did every other and entered the pastel yellow tomb.

Once inside he could hear Taeyong half-shouting in frustrated half-sentences and the mumbled replies of someone Ten couldn’t identify yet, mixed with the deep tones of Johnny attempting to soothe his husband. Ten kicked off his shoes and dropped his scarf on the rack, keeping his jacket on for a quick escape if needed. 

When Ten wandered through the kitchen and the sitting room came into view, he wasn’t surprised to see the shattered remains of a once lovely vase scattered around the floor. “Now, Taeyong,” He scolded, a _tsk_ forming at the base of his teeth, “You know better than to throw temper tantrums.” 

Taeyong spun on his heel at the sound of Ten’s voice, looking angrier than Ten had seen in a long, _long_ time. “Ten,” Taeyong seethed, breathing fire into the already boiling atmosphere. Yuta and Johnny stood to the side of the room, looking as though they wanted to assist, but were unable to do anything about the fuming man, “What the hell took you so long?” 

“Watch your tone or I’ll disappear.” Ten could hold true to his word and they both knew it. If there was one person on this planet able to not only _survive_ without Taeyong, but rather _thrive_ and _out-do_ , it was Ten. Ten would be able to vanish into thin air and remain completely away from Taeyong’s grasp if he chose to. Ten could slip from his fingertips like water and hide in the ocean, completely buried beneath the population and Taeyong would never be able to touch him again. Ten wouldn’t do it because he needed Taeyong in a way completely different to that of everyone else, however Taeyong needed him in the _same_ way. 

Ten’s presence was less like a soothing aura and more like a fire extinguisher. Taeyong seemed to deflate at his words, tension slipping from him like he shed his skin, and he straightened into the more professional Boss everyone in the room was accustomed to. “Thank you for coming,” He said finally, tone subdued and even, “I know it’s Kun’s day off. I’m sorry for ruining your weekend.” 

Ten shrugged, though the irritation ate at the nape of his neck and threatened to curve his lips into a snarl. “If we get this figured out quickly then maybe I will have a weekend with my husband after all.” 

Taeyong nodded, thumbing his bottom lip. “What do you need?”

“Everything you have.”

Ten waited until they were alone in the house, Taeyong dispatching Johnny to fetch Taeil and make a visit to Doyoung’s school and Yuta leaving for his shift at work. Taeyong was thumbing through the files in his desk, looking for _something_ that he hadn’t granted Ten’s curiosity a fulfillment. 

Ten wasn’t terribly interested in it, though, knowing there was far more valuable information locked away inside of the pretty skull sitting in front of him. “Tell me, Taeyong.” 

Taeyong hummed, voice nasally and disinterested as he finally picked a file. He dropped the slightly thick packet without a word and didn’t glance in Ten’s direction as he continued to look through the desk drawer. “Do elaborate, Tennie, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Ten insisted, folding his arms across his chest and tossing one knee over the other, “Will you tell me or shall I pry it from you?”

Taeyong looked up then, black eyes twinkling under the yellowish lighting like gold veined black marble. He looked reptilian in this lighting, truly fitting of the nickname _Dragon_. “And how would you do that, Tennie?” 

“I know all of your ticks, Yong,” Ten sighed, “Please make this easy on me. We can play after I’m no longer under your thumb and a time constraint.” 

Taeyong sighed just as heavily, the disappointment there and indiscernible as to if it was faked or not. “If you insist. Ask away, Tennie, you know I’ll answer. Just be sure you know what you’re asking from me.”

Ten eyed him from his seat across the room. Ten wasn’t intimidated by Taeyong, never had been and never would be. He knew that Taeyong was suffocating to other people, knew that Taeyong was too much for many to handle, and sometimes was intolerable by even those closest to him. Ten was different, though- Ten often muzzled the dragon. “Tell me what you know about Doyoung.”

Taeyong hesitated, not as though he were debating but rather as though he were in the middle of something and had been interrupted with a request to complete the exact task he had been doing. Taeyong clicked his tongue several times before tapping his fingers on the file. “I think this is what you’re after, Tennie.” Taeyong picked them up and held them out to him, beckoning him without words.

Ten hesitated, though his was in contemplation as to whether he should trust the man or not. Ten stood, though, and crossed the room to pluck the files from Taeyong’s hand before sitting back down in his chair. The folder was blank, a nearly new manilla folder that had been stored properly and neatly. Nothing incredibly interesting about it, if Ten was honest with himself. Still, he opened the file, only to feel his breath catch in his throat. 

“This is a police report,” Ten said, looking up at Taeyong who looked mildly bored of the entire situation, “This is _Doyoung’s_ indictment record?” 

Taeyong nodded slowly, thumbing his lip again, the spot where Ten knew he had a small mole decorating the petal soft skin. “Our bunny is an interesting man, Tennie.”

Taeil hadn’t expected to spend his day meandering the university campus, interviewing Doyoung’s professors, but that’s exactly what he _did_. Johnny lingered by his side, always about ten feet away and seemingly uninterested until they were ready to move along to the next person. Taeil was slightly off put by the looming giant, his presence warm in the same way acid was. Johnny was positively corrosive in a long term way; the slow buildup of oxidation on copper, the hole in iron formed from ages of water droplets; Johnny broke people down over time and that was probably the most intimidating thing about him. Taeil understood why Taeyong kept Johnny so close and fell so deeply- he was his complete opposite. 

Taeil and Johnny were visiting the last professor when Taeil spotted him; a familiar head of blonde hair and round glasses and wearing basketball shorts despite the cold fog that encased the city that day. _Mark_. Taeil hadn’t known that Mark could possibly know Doyoung and the fact made him a slight bit more interested in the moment. 

Taeil finished with the professor rather quickly, the teacher pointing him in Mark’s direction when asked if Doyoung was close with anyone in the group of students. 

“Hello,” Taeil said, standing in front of the desk. Mark looked up at the sudden presence, expression confused and surprised, “Police Chief Moon. I’d like to ask you some questions outside, please.”

“Of course,” Mark mumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket and following Taeil outside. There was a gap between them, one that felt like the space of Taeil’s kitchen island. 

Once outside Taeil turned on Mark quickly, urgency in his tone, “Mark, you knew Doyoung?” 

“Yeah,” Mark said casually, tone confused and curious as he continued, “We have been in the same computer class for ages. Took one together last semester too. I wouldn’t count us friends, but I like him.”

“And do you _know_?” Taeil asked, pressing every syllable.

It took Mark a second to understand before he shook his head quickly, eyes wide behind his specs, “ _Him_? That’s-that’s the rookie?” 

Taeil groaned, rubbing his face several times. How had Taeyong _not_ introduced the two yet? “ _Yes_ ,” He hissed, frustration leaking into his tone, though it was entirely misplaced and sourceless in the moment. “And he’s been missing since yesterday and Taeyong is _pissed_. You had classes with him, did you see him do anything after class?” 

Mark shrugged, looking uncomfortable. It was clear the man didn’t keep tabs on Doyoung, but Taeil could understand that there had never been any reason for him to have done so. For once it was mere coincidence that the two were classmates and not Taeyong’s doing. “We didn’t have class together yesterday. I figured he was just skipping today.” 

“Okay,” Taeil attempted to keep his composure as he was finding himself running into another deadend and an inevitably unhappy Boss, “Well, do you know what he did after school most days? Or where he would go if he was going to do anything?” 

Mark stood quietly for a second, toes bumping into each other as he wobbled in place. Taeil wondered what Donghyuck saw in him- Mark was a nice guy, but Taeil thought he was a little awkward at moments. Mark sprung from his congested thoughts with a snap of his fingers and a strange noise. “Sometimes he visited the coffee shop by the far parking lot before heading out if it was a particularly tiring day. He said it was like a nice treat after exhausting his brain.” 

Taeil glanced over his shoulder at Johnny who was studying the pair with all too understanding eyes. Taeil looked back to Mark and jerked his head towards the classroom again, “Go back in. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

When Mark departed, Taeil nodded his head in the direction of the parking lot while walking closer to Johnny, “Mark said that Doyoung visited a coffee stand next to the farthest parking lot often.”

“Well, I guess that’s our first genuine lead.”

The two made their way up to the coffee shop, the cement stairways and halls completely empty of students. It was an odd sight to see the campus so empty, but it was an odd time that they were visiting at. Taeil supposed it must’ve been in the middle of class time and everyone’s lunch hours. When they arrived to the corner that the small cafe was embedded in, Taeil spoke to the barista through the parking lot facing window. While he did so, Johnny spent the time looking around, eyeing every upper corner and the cameras lining the ceiling. 

Taeil held a photo up to the woman, a photo of Doyoung’s student ID that he had printed out earlier in the day. “Do you know this man?”

The barista shrugged, eyebrows knitting as she squinted at the photo. A frown creased her mouth as she blinked a couple more times. “I can’t say I _know_ him, but he comes by a lot. He gets a black coffee every time. He doesn’t really talk much and he’s almost always alone unless he’s with that other student with the glasses.”

Taeil nodded, putting the photo away. He felt some of the tension melting from his spine at the confirmation that Doyoung _did_ come here often. There was a possibility that they were finally on the right path and he wouldn’t have to return to Taeyong’s with empty hands and no closer to finding Doyoung. “Did he stop by yesterday?” 

“Yeah,” She said after a moment, “Yeah, he got a black coffee and then headed off over there. I think he sat on the bench but I can’t say for sure, I was cleaning the machines.” 

“Thank you,” Taeil said, nodding, “You’ve been a great help.”

When Taeil made it back over to Johnny, the tall man looked slightly irritated, as though someone had just offered to buy him a shot only to drink it in front of him. “What’s got you looking like someone pissed in your cereal?” 

Johnny jerked his head in a nondescript direction as though that were supposed to give Taeil _any_ indication as to what he was thinking. “There’s cameras all over this school that point in almost every direction _except_ that parking lot. It looks like there was a camera that overlooked the parking lot at one point, but it’s been ripped from the wiring and patched up poorly.” 

“So no video footage?” 

“No video footage,” Johnny confirmed before continuing with a heated tone, “ _And_ that means someone has been watching him for long enough to know that _that_ is where he goes and sits. Someone’s been watching him long enough to discover his patterns and be able to predict his movement. This is _dangerous_ , Taeil.”

Johnny didn’t have to say that, didn’t have to let Taeil know that- Taeil was fully aware of the implications. If Doyoung was being stalked, monitored to the point of _knowledge_ , that meant there was a possibility that the other members were being tracked as well. “Do we tell Taeyong?” 

Johnny ran his fingers through his hair, before gripping the strands and cursing loudly in a manner unlike himself. “I don’t want to, but we have no other choice.”

“Do you understand now?” Taeyong asked as he put the file back into its rightful spot, “Do you understand why Doyoung is such a fascinating little creature.”

“You shouldn’t be manipulating him like this,” Ten chastised, but Taeyong barely listened to the words. He never listened to Ten when the man went on his morality speeches. Taeyong had surpassed the point of morality and he had done so _long_ ago. “It’s not right.” 

“I do a lot of things that aren’t _right_ , Ten.” Taeyong sighed, fingers forming a steeple where he rested his chin, “But it’s a choice I made and I’m living with it now. What I was expecting and what I got were two different people and now I am learning how to make him fit into a slot he was never created for.”

“Maybe don’t make him fit, then.” Ten offered gently. Ten looked pretty sitting there across from him, despite the fact that he appeared as though he had rolled out of bed and arrived at Taeyong’s after. Ten also looked judgemental in that moment, dark eyes narrowed on Taeyong and Taeyong could practically taste the scrutiny. 

“What are you suggesting? Letting him go?” Taeyong was incredulous, eyebrows in his hairline. Ten rarely made such bold suggestions, especially knowing that there was no going back once a member was initiated. Doyoung was in too deep now, had done too much, had seen too much. Normalcy didn’t come to those who actively rejected it. Doyoung wouldn’t be able to return to a _normal_ life after what Taeyong had put him through. Leaving wasn’t an option for Doyoung anymore, no matter how ill-fitted the man was for this lifestyle. Taeyong knew this. Ten knew this. Still, the idea hung heavy in the air as the two sat and stared at each other. 

“Not necessarily, but a possibility.” Ten’s voice was tired and it sounded as though he were no longer speaking about Doyoung. Taeyong often wondered if Ten would leave this lifestyle if he could. He wondered often if Ten would vanish without a trace if he had the opportunity. He thought for sure that Ten would choose a different path if he had the chance and that in the next lifetime he certainly would. 

“He knows too much.” Taeyong said finally, voice equally tired as he spoke the words hanging between the two on handcrafted nooses, “I’m afraid letting him out isn’t possible, not if I want to keep my operation quiet.”

Ten crossed his legs, thighs pressing against his jeans as Taeyong watched the other man think. He could practically see the gears turning within Ten’s mind as the other sifted through a lifetime’s worth of information. He asked finally, careful yet direct, “What was the mold you wanted him to fit?” 

“A killer,” Taeyong responded simply, knowing that Ten only ever asked for direct answers. “Instead, I found a brain. He’s very perceptive, intuitive almost. Reads people easily like it’s a second nature for him. He gathers information quicker than anyone else I’ve met. Nothing like what his record would have you believe.” 

Ten chewed on his thumb, nodding slightly. “Chances are, they’re expecting the same thing as you.” 

“I don’t think so,” Taeyong said, wiggling his chair slightly as he worked the thoughts over in his mind, “I think we have met the people who took him and I think they know exactly who he is.”

Ten looked intrigued, leaning onto his knees to eye the man, “Who are you thinking, Yong?” 

“A little while ago there was a slip up with one of Jaehyun’s secondary dealers. They’re one of the small handling groups Jaehyun began working with as a supplier-buyer kind of relationship. They roughed up a few of the Dreamies and Yuta was _livid_. Admittedly, I shouldn’t have approved of them running an errand like that, but it wasn’t supposed to go sour. We hadn’t had problems with them before and I figured it would be quick. Jaehyun and Yuta don’t like the kids involved in directly illegal activity, though, so I did take the blame on that one and let them be mad. I pushed their limits and the kids paid the price.” Taeyong had felt guilty for _ages_ after that, every time one of the Dreamies appeared with their fading bruises, Taeyong felt the guilt and rage swirling in his chest. That had been _his_ mistake. He swallowed the rocks in his throat and continued on, thumbing at his lip once again, “Something about it was _odd_ , though. They gave back the supply without a fight. Doyoung mentioned that everything about it felt unnatural and I agree.”

“What are you thinking, Taeyong?” Ten asked finally, though Taeyong knew he was already on the same page as he.

“I’m thinking that the point of fucking with our supply and demand and then our kids was a way to get me to come into that building. I think that that was a trap set for me to enter. I think that they were intending on killing everyone who entered that building. I think that Doyoung was unexpected and I think that he caught their eye. I’m thinking someone _really_ wants me to pay them a visit and I’m thinking I know who.” 

Johnny walked into the study just as Ten was hanging up his phone, a grim expression on his pretty face. “Why so blue, Red?” 

Ten played with his freshly dyed red hair and grinned, “Nothing really. Just trying to appease your hubby.”

“Blow him, that usually works.” Johnny ducked just in time for the book Taeyong threw at him to hit the doorjamb rather than his head. 

Taeyong straightened up, squaring his shoulders after his small outburst. “Quit your banter and sit down, John. We need to talk.” 

Johnny groaned, “Well, when you say it like that I don’t _want_ to sit down.” Taeyong glared at him, dark eyes glinting like gunmetal and Johnny decided joking around wasn’t in Taeyong’s current taste. Johnny sat across from Ten as Taeyong fiddled with his innocuous black notebook. 

“Do you remember the run we went on with Jaehyun, Yuta, and Jaemin? It was one of Doyoung’s first outings with the group and it was to investigate the violence against the Dreamies.” Taeyong’s fingers were dipping in and out of the holepunches of the notebook as he spoke and Johnny noted the random signs of nervousness his husband was expressing. 

“Yeah,” Johnny said after a brief moment, drumming his fingers on his thighs as he recollected the odd atmosphere that had taken place inside of the old shipment center. “Yeah, I remember. It ended peacefully and everything got sorted out, but you came home talking about the bad feeling you got from it.” 

“That’s because I’m never wrong,” Taeyong bit out then dropped his phone onto the desk in front of him, “Ten sent Sicheng out on a scouting mission after we talked a bit. Turns out there’s an awful lot of guards at their newest location, almost like they’re protecting something.”

“So you want me and a group to check it out?” Johnny offered, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the chair. His eyebrows were folded downwards, slight confusion overtaking him. He wasn’t entirely sure what pathway his husband was heading down with this information.

Taeyong laughed, though it was cold and mirthless and felt like ice crawling against his more sensitive skin, “No, I’m not that stupid. Sicheng, Jaehyun, and Jungwoo can take care of them. You, Ten, Yuta, and I are making a trip to the office we met them in initially. This time around we are clearing out the nest, I’m sick of having rats.” 

It was raining outside by the time they made it to the small office inside of the practically abandoned strip mall area. Taeyong wore his mask, diamond encrusted and anonymous, but Johnny and Yuta were bare save for dust masks pulled over their mouths and noses. There would be no survivors to tell the tales of their faces anyways, no sense in covering what would not be seen nor remembered. Taeyong simply liked the drama of anonymity. 

The door of the office opened easily, no resistance found. Taeyong could almost sense the doubt rolling off of Johnny, could almost taste the _are you sure about this_ that nearly fell from his tongue. Taeyong was never wrong, though. Taeyong had been handcrafted by the universe for this, perfected down to every little detail of himself to be able to not only live in this lifestyle but _thrive_ in it. 

When the trio entered the room and the door clicked shut, there was nothing but silence in the darkness surrounding them. After what felt as though a mere minute of nothingness, Johnny opened his mouth to speak when the door behind the desk opened and filled the room with yellow light. “Hm,” The woman’s voice clicked in irritation, as she moved into the main area of the room, staying behind the counter, “I figured it would take you longer to figure everything out.” 

“You continually underestimate us.” Yuta responded in a mocking tone, similar to the one she had used, though far more bitey and far more lethal. Yuta’s tone carried the weight of all the dead bodies that trailed after him. “That’ll get you killed one day.” 

She huffed, almost as though she were laughing and shook her head, “Well, your bunny isn’t here, so you made the trip for nothing.” 

Johnny scoffed on Taeyong’s other side. Johnny was patronizing, though it always came through so naturally that it was often hard to detect. Johnny carried an aura of _better by birth_ that he hid behind warm hands and honeyed smiles. This time was no different as his words were slick and covered in the flavorless poison he often spoke with. “Lying will also get you killed.” 

“That’s an awful lot of talk coming from two puppets and a coward.” She was snide, horribly so, but Taeyong wasn’t affronted by her attitude. Taeyong only ever found himself disturbed by people he respected and he couldn’t find a single part of him to respect _her_.

Taeyong didn’t speak when she looked directly at him, finding the exchange rather amusing. Nothing about this woman exuded power- rather, the opposite. Looking at her Taeyong saw nothing more than a common street vermin. She held herself far too broadly for someone who was only able to nibble at the weakest link of _Empathy_. She was opportunistic, parasitic, and all too desperate. She was the same as every other small crime gang leader Taeyong had run into- strong only for the sheer lack of capabilities and frightening only until cornered by a larger predator.

That’s where Taeyong differed so greatly from the rest. Taeyong was not opportunistic- Taeyong willingly let chances slip him by and worked far too hard at specific goals. When things happened they were because _he_ planned them. Nothing ever came to him by fate and he never let a story be told by someone else. This world was _his_ and his alone; he was simply kind enough to share with everyone else. Taeyong was frightening because he was willing to bite the leather belt and bear with the pain until he pried the bullets from his wounds and then loaded his own gun with them. Taeyong was strong because every member of _Empathy_ was hand selected by himself and then hand delivered to him. 

Taeyong wouldn’t say he had a god-complex, but only because he was atheist.

“The ventriloquist dummy calling us puppets is rather ironic, isn’t it?” Yuta sang, wobbling on his heels, eyes slightly deranged behind his red bangs. 

“I’m going to ask you all to leave only once more,” She said, hand landing at her hip, “Before I make you regret coming alone and so defenseless.” 

Taeyong barked a laugh, sharp enough to sound like a slap within the quiet room and for a moment he swore he stopped the rain middair. It was the first sound he had made upon entering. “If you think I am defenseless, you are sorely mistaken, my dear. I tire so quickly of these charades, but I must ask you out of morbid curiosity: Why?” 

“Why?” She asked, head tilted and expression cut, “Why what?”

“Why did you take my precious little bunny?” Taeyong sighed, withdrawing the knife strapped to his thigh and pressing the tip into his thumb. There was a subtle rage building in his chest with his words, an anger he had yet to address since his fit in the living room that he would have to clean once he arrived at home. 

“That’s the exact reason,” She breathed heavily, hand wrapping around the handle of the gun sticking out of her jeans waistband, “He’s _precious_ to you.”

Taeyong moved without thinking, launching the knife across the room and watching it land hilt-deep in the wall, whizzing by her with less than a foot to spare. She gasped audibly, falling a step back before regaining her composure as Taeyong snapped for a moment. “If you touched him, I’ll flay your meat from your bones while you live. I’ll make you _feel_ it. Whatever you have done you will receive tenfold. Every finger stroke, every bruise, I will make you _pay_.” It wasn’t necessarily directed at her, the promise made to any who had done so, but the air tasted like blood and Taeyong briefly wondered if he could send the sharklike Yuta into a frenzy with it.

It seemed to falter her in her self-assuredness for only a moment before her mask dropped again. “My my you’re sensitive, though you’re not a very good shot.” She jerked her head at the knife buried in the wall, “You missed.”

With the final word spoken, the door to the office opened rather casually and several armed men filed out, more coming from the other doors in the office and cornering them against the exit. Taeyong looked around at the cockroach-like people all dressed in black and swarming in the dark. Unimpressive, he thought, entirely dull and tactless. 

Taeyong withdrew his own gun and the woman barked a laugh, “You’re _still_ choosing to fight?” 

Taeyong hummed, fingers tracing the details of his gun, the embedded pearls and ruby laced handle, the carvings of prayers, and the gold dragon detail on the barrel. “Don’t be mistaken,” He said lowly, admiring his own weapon still, “It’s not I that is still fighting. It is you.”

The woman was growing frustrated and Taeyong loved it. He loved the way he could see the steam practically misting off of her scalp, loved the way that she was desperately trying to maintain control in a setting where she had absolutely none. “You are alone here, stranded, and you _still_ have the nerve to talk as though you’re this big fucking king? You’re fucking _surrounded_.” 

Taeyong laughed, genuine and tinkling, and it made Johnny glance down at him with the warmest eyes he had seen in his lifetime. “It is you who are alone. As we speak, your den is being cleaned up. You will have no back-up arriving. You will have no help. You are the last survivors.”

The woman raised her gun and aimed it directly at Taeyong for the first time, the barrel looking him in the eye from across the room. There was a muffled gunshot, the sound of broken glass, and then the screech of the woman as she dropped her gun with pained whimpering. Someone in the mass of black cried _sniper_ and then the _true_ chaos began. 

Ten easily plucked away the men with their guns drawn, as though he were shooting fish in a barrel. Yuta moved on quickly to swinging his bat with graceful swooping motions until one caught the aluminum when it collided with their ribs. Instead of pulling on the weapon, Yuta let them yank back far too hard for the lack of resistance and fell into the shelf behind them, giving Yuta the chance to kick the other member, that was encroaching to his side, in the stomach, effectively knocking them backwards as well. 

Johnny had taken out his muzzled pistol and was shooting down the men that Ten had not shot due to their lack of immediate threat. Taeyong merely laughed to himself at the fact that half were equipped only with close-range weapons. The woman had probably thought to choose the more soundless approach as to not alert the neighboring businesses of the commotion within the brick walls. Taeyong didn’t care if the neighbors heard or not. Taeyong had learned long ago not to bring only knives to fights. 

Taeyong broke away from the groups and headed for the back of the store, rounding the corner to where the woman was huddled with her injured hand clutched to her chest. 

“Stand up,” Taeyong ordered, voice almost bored sounding in its delivery. He was masking his rage, attempting to stifle it long enough to have Doyoung back safely first. When the woman hesitated, he reached out and locked his fingers in the roots of her hair dragging her head backwards, “I said _stand_.”

Taeyong wouldn’t drag her up. Taeyong didn’t physically force people into his bidding. He ordered and they complied. It was the natural system of things. Once again, the order was fulfilled as she stood on shaking legs. 

“Call your dogs off.” He pressed the nose of the gun square in her chest and hissed behind his mask like an angry snake, “It’s time we collected what’s rightfully ours.”

She seemed to contemplate the position she was in, glancing around the room at her gang being picked off as though they were merely training dummies. When the reality seemed to settle in around her, she called in a broken voice, “Cease!”

The room slowly went still, black clad fighters stopping as they looked to their leader for guidance only to find a coward in charge. That’s where Taeyong differed from every other leader he had met. He would _never_ back down. He would have never been caught like this, either. He thought it to be amusing how little these Boss’s seemed to think of organized crime. It was rather ironic how they treated the lifestyle as a quick money scheme. It was time, it was patience, and it was a whole lot of apathy. 

“Now take me to him.” Taeyong growled, pressing the metal into her skin further as he watched her grasp for words, “Don’t fucking open your mouth unless it’s to tell me where he is. I don’t want to hear that bullshit _he’s not here_ come out. If I do, I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to your mother. Take me to him.”

The woman trembled, hesitating only for a second before jerking her head towards the back door, “He’s in the office.”

“Lead,” Taeyong ordered simply and was pleased to find her compliance. She turned around, allowing him to press the barrel into her spine between her shoulderblades as she led the way. They entered the office quickly, moving almost silently on the carpeted floor as she led them through the room and to the storage closet. She opened it slowly, revealing a familiar head of black hair slouched over in the dark. 

“Oh, my beautiful little bunny.” Taeyong clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “What have you gotten yourself into this time?” 

“Why are you so interested in him?” She asked, voice careful, but curious. “He’s not all that special from what we know.” 

“So you researched him?” Taeyong sounded oddly proud, even to his own ears. “ _That_ is what makes him special, dear. How easy it is to become so entrapped by him. He’s a natural attractant. You saw me fawning over him and decided he was valuable- however not every currency is exchangeable. My little bunnies value is found where you cannot reach it. You could never even begin to unlock the treasure he is. That’s why you were never even a threat to my organization. All of these problems you have caused- they’re all minor inconveniences to me. Pathetic attempts at grasping my attention. You accomplished nothing, because you are skilled at nothing. Next time, pick enemies with those you are in competition with, because you were never mine.”

With that, Taeyong led the two back into the main room, heads turning to watch them as they entered silently. Taeyong stopped the woman when she stood over her own puddle of blood from her injured fist. 

For a second, they all stood in silence together, statues of people in a graveyard, memoriams.

Then, Taeyong unchambered the single bullet in his gun into the womans spine and dropped her to the floor. There were several shocked cries from those in the room but Taeyong merely put his gun back in his holster and turned to face Johnny and Yuta. 

“Kill the rest. Leave none alive. It’s time we have finished cleaning this rat den out. I’m rather tired of these childish games they have been playing. I’ll cut off a finger for every pulse found after you’re finished.”

Taeyong turned on his toes, heading back to gather his unconscious bunny. Doyoung looked pale, several bruises and cuts decorating his skin that sent a rush of anger through him. Doyoung only looked pretty in splotchy bruises left over from rough hands and gentle lips. The discoloration from angry fists made Taeyong feel as though he could burn the building down with a snap of his fingers, but he swallowed it down in turn for gently stroking the man’s cheek. 

“Tokki,” Taeyong said quietly, brushing the hair from his cheek, “Tokki, it’s time to wake up.”

Doyoung was curled up on the couch now, wrapped around a throw pillow and covered in a fluffy blanket that Taeyong had insisted Yuta bring down. Yuta couldn’t say he minded, quite liking caring for the small-looking man. 

Doyoung looked tired, the drugs they had been using on him slowly fading out of his system. Sedatives, Johnny had said. Date rape drugs, Yuta suspected, considering they were easy to administer and quick to process out. Either way, Doyoung was lucid enough to speak, blinking owlishly up at them all as they recounted the events. 

“Yeah,” He said slowly, jaw looking heavy, “I remember they kept asking me questions. Things like what you did and why you chose me and what plans you had. Kind of cartoonish questions. I don’t think she really knew what she was looking for in the answers.” 

Taeyong hummed, thumbing at his lip from where he was curled up on the recliner with a mug of tea. “Yes, she was rather incompetent when it came down to actions.”

Doyoung didn’t seem to have an opinion on the matter, still looking as though he weren’t fully understanding of the entire situation. Yuta thought they shouldn’t be pushing him so much, given his current state, but Taeyong was adamant about gathering whatever he could while he could. 

“Either way,” Taeyong spoke again, fingers tapping a rhythm against the ceramic in his hand, “I think you should stay with Jungwoo and Jaehyun while Ten and I ensure that the nest has been completely cleared out. This time I want _no_ survivors. I want it absolutely _desolate_.”

Yuta didn’t like that thought.

He didn’t like the idea of Doyoung staying so far away from him, completely out of his eyesight for who knew how long. Yuta didn’t like the idea of Jaehyun meddling in his business once again from the sidelines. He didn’t like the idea of Jungwoo getting to play with the man as he pleased. Yuta didn’t like this plan. 

He kept quiet though, mouth tight and eyes averted as Taeyong passed him a single fleeting look as though he knew what the man was thinking. 

Of course he would know, Yuta thought, Taeyong knew _everything_. 

“Staying with Jungwoo and Jaehyun?” Doyoung asked after a beat too long, words sounding heavy on his tongue. “For how long?” 

“Until I’m certain they’re all dead.” Taeyong said simply, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. Yuta knew the man wanted to snap at Doyoung for making him repeat himself, but there was a general understanding that Doyoung was still partially high and chances were they would have to recount all this information once the drugs passed through his system. 

Doyoung blinked wetly at Taeyong, looking to Yuta for a long breath before glancing to Johnny and back to Taeyong. “Until who’s all dead?” 

Yuta sighed into his palm, pinching his nose. It was going to be a long evening. 

It was past midnight when Ten crawled back into bed with his husband. Kun was leaning against the headboard now, reading a book with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “There you are, dear.” He said, the overwhelming fondness in his voice soothing every frayed nerve Ten had. “You were gone for so long, I thought you said you would be quick.”

Ten gave a chuckle before scooting over to press a warm kiss to his husbands cheek, “I wasn’t _that_ long. We have all night and all of tomorrow together, still.” 

Kun adjusted the book so his single hand held the book properly and wrapped his now free arm around his husband. Ten curled into his side like a content cat and he knew that if he could purr that he would be doing so. Kun returned his kiss by pressing his own to the crown of his skull and then rested his cheek there. “I think I should take a vacation soon.”

“Oh, I’d like that.” Ten purred, voice smooth as he looked upwards, “We could spend so much time in bed.”

“Think of all those cuddles.” Kun said and wiggled his nose in a way that made Ten giggle. 

Taeyong was wrong, he thought as he stared at Kun. There _was_ normalcy for people like him. It was more rare and more simple, but there _was_ a chance at living happily outside of that lifestyle. Ten was often haunted by who he was behind Kun’s back, but he tried to think of the ways that he cleansed himself into who he was supposed to be. His purpose in life was here, to be in love with this man, to spend this lifetime and the next being by his side. Who Ten was away from Kun wasn’t important, not when _here_ was where he felt the happiest. With that thought, Ten tucked himself back into his husband and allowed himself to enjoy the rare times where he could pretend that his secondary life _didn’t_ exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed even though it's been AGES jesus christ i'm sorry. this next chapter is one i've REEEALLY looked forward to writing- the DoWoo chapter!! so i hope you all are as excited as i am and this one actually will be out sooner than months omg


	13. Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyoung meets the girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry i put this fic on hiatus for a hot minute but i’ll explain in the end note if you’re interested as to why. 
> 
> Otherwise, here's some important info: 
> 
> 1-Brief depictions of lesbophobia and arrest/anxiety  
> 2-When jungwoo is dressed as rose i’ll refer to him as her!  
> 3-E rating is back babyyyyy slight dollifcation undertones and almost borders dubcon, but it's not quite dubcon bc doyoung never retracts consent. a very fine line is walked, but it's all con.  
> 4-i support sex workers so don't go into this thinking anything in here is going to paint them negatively!  
> 5-I’m going to start using my “profile” here to use as a schedule so you can check back to that to see what i’m planning/currently writing! I’ll update it frequently so check back to that if you’re curious about updates!
> 
> as always, enjoy! [unedited]

He hadn’t hesitated. At least, Doyoung liked to think he didn’t hesitate, when in reality he had paced a raceway into the beaten up wood floor that he was borrowing. His fingers had trembled over all too familiar of a phone number, had flicked his screen on and off on and off _on and off_. He had dug into the buried parts of his mind and unearthed a coffin long since rotting in under the dirt, but he didn’t know if enough time passed for it to be qualified from grave robbing to archeology. Would it ever _be_ archeology? Would he ever grow enough that those bones were no longer memorized by name and instead were something worth looking at in awe of history? He didn’t know. 

So he pretended he didn’t hesitate. 

He pretended like his mouth didn’t taste like dirt and he pretended like the faint ache in his knuckles didn’t remind him of a time where bone met bone and crimson colored a pretty dress shirt. He had thrown that dress shirt away. At least, he had after the police were done with it, when it was released from a dusty cardboard box marked with _his_ name and _his_ address and _his_ assigned case number. 

Doyoung pretended like he hadn’t flinched at the sound of the ringing- the same sound every single phonecall held, yet somehow sounded like the chimes of a church bell on a Sunday he’d forgotten. He pretended like the sound didn’t make his skin itch and like he wasn’t shredding the inside of his lip and he pretended like he didn’t feel the urge to throw his phone at the wall in hopes of _silencing_ the damn thing. 

“Hello, this is Riverside Clinic, how may I help you?” The voice was polite, sweet, and a bucket of cold water drenching Doyoung from head to toe in an immediate second. When Doyoung’s tongue was nothing more than a decayed muscle attached to a half broken jaw, the woman spoke again, “Hello?” 

“Hi,” Doyoung breathed finally, the tension from his body snapping in an instant. He caught himself on the dresser that wasn’t his, stealing support that wasn’t his, collecting himself with pieces that weren’t his. “I’m calling to talk to Doctor Kang. Is she in?” 

The secretary chirped something about waiting a moment and Doyoung was suddenly left with the sound of static from the receiver and the beat of his own heart, the beating of a heart he had ripped from a body in the ground. Doyoung wondered how many pieces of his weren’t his own, how many belonged to a version of himself that died young and how many were pieces he had stolen from the hands of a tattooed knife and a treasure hoarding dragon and a bloodied teddy bear. Doyoung didn’t want to think of everything he had replaced in himself with things he had stolen, but perhaps they were given to him willingly- insurance that he would lose little pieces of himself if he ever left arms reach. Doyoung felt as though he could cry as he thought about it, eyes stinging but the emotions clogged beneath a rock stuck in his chest. 

“She will be available to talk briefly in just a moment.” The voice returned, sweet and inconspicuous as it had been before, shattering the ice that had encapsulated him. “Who am I speaking to? I’ll let her know beforehand.”

“Doyoung,” He said shakily, jaw stuttering with the uncertainty he felt, “Kim Doyoung. I’m- I’m a past patient.”

The secretary made a sweet noise, high and melodic, as he could hear the faint clicking of keys in the background. “Well, sir, I’m sure she will be excited to hear from you. I’ll transfer you as soon as she’s ready.” 

It was clear the woman had no idea who Doyoung was. She was new, possibly new enough not to know of Dr. Kang’s involvement with clients like Doyoung. This woman was still new and fresh and probably would be eaten alive by the clientele within months. She wouldn’t last. Doyoung had remembered secretaries like her before. She probably held the same thoughts as Doyoung, using the term _therapist_ casually to avoid confronting the fact that Dr. Kang was a government issued psychiatrist. Dr. Kang wasn’t a family counsellor or a comforting ear, but someone’s forced intervention before white walls and built in furniture became their only option. Surely this secretary knew, but Doyoung wondered _if she knew_. Perhaps she kept her head down and a plastic smile stuck up. Perhaps she avoided asking too many questions for the sake of herself or maybe she just didn’t ask any out of fear. Doyoung remembered a secretary like her when he first started seeing Dr. Kang. That secretary had left before his sessions had ended. 

“Hello, this is Doctor J. Kang,” A familiar, gravelly voice spoke from the receiver. Doyoung wondered what Dr. Kang looked like now and if her brown hair had begun to grey and if her wrinkles had deepened or if she had formed new ones. He wondered if she ceased wearing that ugly moldy mustard colored jacket or if it was threadbare now. He wondered if she still wore the thick rimmed glasses or if she had finally resorted to contacts after all the complaining she had done. Maybe she had gotten lasik. How much had she changed? Doyoung certainly had changed. He wondered if she was curious about all the same things. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, not with kindness but with such a cautious approach that Doyoung felt like a feral cat trapped in a barn. “Doyoung. It’s been a long time.” 

“Hello,” Doyoung sighed, finally collapsing onto the bed, body unwilling to hold him even with the support of the furniture. “It really has been a while. How are you?” 

There was a pause and Doyoung heard the slight shuffle of paper. “I’m well,” She said finally, “But I’m sure you didn’t call to talk about _me_?”

Doyoung paused. Why _had_ he called her? There was nothing he could speak to her about. He couldn’t tell her about the ache in his chest and the urge to taste bone. He couldn’t tell her that somewhere, deep inside of him, it felt like a child making a baking soda and vinegar volcano as a science project. He couldn’t tell her that he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his brother. He couldn’t tell her that he was sprinting down a pathway with no ending except the face of a cliff and the bite of a ravine waiting to swallow him whole. He couldn’t tell her this. So why had he called? 

“I wanted to call and thank you,” He said finally, voice slightly choked. He felt guilt bubble in his throat as he heard the woman sigh, a gentle noise, and he imagined her relaxing into her chair as she always would during their sessions as he shed the feelings of anger and resentment. “I wanted to thank you for the work you put into me. I’m feeling different these days.”

“That’s good, Doyoung,” She said softly and he imagined her rouged lips curling into a practiced smile. _This isn’t good,_ he wanted to cry, fingers curling into his sweatpants over the coffee stain from yesterday, _I’m still the same, I’m just killing people for money now._ “I’m proud of your progress. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting you to call and update me, but it’s nice to hear about some success in treatment.” 

Doyoung swallowed heavily, mind whirring as he attempted to stifle the horrible guilt and swallowed the slight bit of blood from his bleeding lip. “Of course,” He said finally, “I just really wanted to thank you. Anyways, I should get going and let you get back to your day.”

“Thank you, Doyoung. Take care.” Doyoung hung up, tossing his phone on the bed that wasn’t his and sighed. His fingers found his hair and he tugged lightly, attempting to ground himself. It seemed as though he were still grave robbing. 

Jaehyun and Jungwoo’s cottage was _cute_. It was nothing like Doyoung would have expected a huge drug kingpin and a pimp to live in, but it was homey and sweet. Jungwoo had told him it was his grandmother’s, the house having been passed down when she passed away. It certainly _looked_ like a grandmother's home, with frilly curtains and beaten wood floors and pastel walls and floral furniture. Dusty books sat on dusty shelves and there was a water stain above the front door. Doyoung wondered if they had changed anything or if Jungwoo had preserved the memory of his grandmother as a way of maintaining the last piece of his _normal_. Doyoung understood the need to keep some things sacred and untouched, keep that _one_ tether to something not illicit and hell-binding. Doyoung had yet to find his, but he was certain he would eventually. 

He was grateful for the two letting him stay in the tiny spare room, though he wasn’t sure it was by choice for _any_ of them.

When Doyoung had come to and sobered up from whatever the kidnappers had sedated him with, Johnny had suggested Doyoung stay with the two just for safe-keeping, until he figured out who all knew about Doyoung’s existence. It had been a suggestion, spoken sweetly with genuine concern, but when Doyoung had looked him in the eye, he knew there was no _declining_. He supposed that neither Jaehyun nor Jungwoo were braver than he. 

He wasn’t truly complaining, though, almost enjoying the private time to himself. It had been almost a week since he had been delivered here with a bag and no instructions besides _get better_ from a slightly sad looking Taeyong. His bruises were fading to an awful yellowy green shade and his body no longer ached when he moved. He enjoyed the silence of the cabin as Jungwoo and Jaehyun left him alone as they went to work. Doyoung had contacted his professors with a half-baked excuse for being completely absent for an inexplicable amount of time and received online assignments to do. Doyoung was positive that Taeyong’s fingers were wound tightly in that web, pulling the strings on his own. Doyoung was almost certain that even if he hadn’t contacted them himself, he would’ve received an excuse of absence and work to maintain. 

He found himself appreciating the complete isolation, feeling as though he were healing in more ways than one. 

This morning, however, it seemed as though he was not permitted to be alone longer than the hour he had to drink his coffee as he watched the forest outside come alive. 

“Doyoung,” Jungwoo chirped from the hallway as he came sliding out, dressed prettily in a white blouse tucked into black slacks. His socked feet were silent against the floor, but his presence was unmistakable, “Doyoung, how would you like to come with me to work today?” 

Doyoung blinked several times, holding his nearly empty mug between his cold fingers. “To-to work?” He repeated, watching as Jungwoo nodded his head, freshly ginger hair flouncing with the movement. “Is Taeyong okay with that?” 

Jungwoo shrugged and sat on the couch with him, back straight and shoulders squared in a rather elegant manner. Jungwoo handled himself with such poise and grace that occasionally Doyoung wondered if he came from royalty in a past life. “Yeah, at least, I think he is. Johnny is the one that recommended I take you with me to the club to get you out a bit. I won’t take you to the bank, that would be _awful_ of me, you’d be so bored that getting beaten up might be more fun.”

Doyoung stared at him with a crook of his neck and Jungwoo just smiled back, plush lips pulled over perfect teeth. Jungwoo was so _pretty_ , in a way that reminded Doyoung of spring blossoms and gardens and he wondered if Jungwoo was more like a bouquet sat on a grave or a flower that dissolved flesh. “What would I do all day?”

“Meet the girls, see what I do, just have a fun _bring your pet to work_ day.” Jungwoo’s tone was jovial but Doyoung felt his skin prickle with the words. “It wouldn’t be intensive and we would be home for supper. Johnny has just mentioned a lot how curious of everything you are. I figured that this would be a great way to get you socialized again and also satiate that ever starving curiosity you have.” 

Doyoung didn’t think he had much of a choice in the matter. Johnny had recommended the activity, so he figured one way or another he was leaving the house today. “Sure,” Doyoung agreed slowly, nodding hesitantly, “Let me get dressed.” 

“Perfect!” Jungwoo chirped again, smiling with his eyes as he stood from the couch, “Jaehyun’s already at his day-job and I’m the boss of my club so there is no time I _have_ to be there. Take your time getting ready! Look pretty, though, the girls especially like their pets when they’re wrapped nicely.” 

Doyoung wasn’t sure how to feel about being referred to as a _pet_ , however he headed off to the guest room regardless, without complaint. 

Doyoung wasn’t sure what he was expecting from a strip club that ran a sex work business, but he wasn’t expecting it to be what he found. The building was inconspicuous enough, in the heart of downtown Neo City, built up of white bricks and frosted glass windows. The sign on the door was neon red with cursive font spelling out _Rose’s and Honey_ , a simple rose replacing the apostrophe in _Rose’s_. The building didn’t _look_ like a nightclub from the outside and it certainly didn’t look like a prositution ring, but Doyoung supposed that was the whole purpose of such a location. 

Upon entering the building, Doyoung was struck by the heavy, yet sweet, floral scent that seemed permanent in the building. The entryway was dark, a concierge stand blocking the entrance that Doyoung was sure two guards would normally be posted by, and everything was draped in burgundy velvet and gold tassels. It was simple, but suave in a way that reminded Doyoung of the speakeasy in the basement behind Taeyong’s house. When Jungwoo dragged Doyoung through the ornately carved door behind the podium, he felt light-headed at the sight in front of him. 

Much like the entryway, the building was empty, but it left little to the imagination of what happened here. There were two oblong stages that ran the length of the room and a single large stage at the end creating a horseshoe shape, all the surfaces made of a black material that was so shiny he was almost convinced it was glass. A pole stood tall at both the ends of the oblong stages, and as Doyoung followed them upwards, he noticed the draping curtains from the ceiling, long strips of silky fabric undoubtedly used for another set of dancers. 

There were tables and booths _everywhere_ , high-walled booths lining the outskirts of the room and rather fancy looking tables set up with low hanging cloths and candles in the center. The bar on the wall next to the entrance was wood and the same black glassy top as the stages, the back wall a huge mirror reflecting both the liquors lining the shelves and the ghost stages. The open top level of the room was led up to by a grand staircase that swooped over the bar and it was lined with an intricate metal railing dusted with gold accents. Everything about the place felt _rich_ , but also somehow _tacky_ , the same way that genuine fur coats did. 

“Do you like it?” Jungwoo asked, draping an arm over Doyoung’s shoulder and leaning into him, not unlike a preening cat, “It’s quite grand. Wait until you meet the girls. You’re going to love them.”

Doyoung nodded, unable to speak as Jungwoo led him through the tables and around the stage by his wrist, his fingers locked like a shackle. A door was hidden there with fancy gold writing with the simple and expected _Staff only, do not enter_ warning. Doyoung was sure the door would be locked during business hours. 

The door led to a series of hallways with a series of doors, several labelled with words like _women_ and _men_ and _other_ and _kings_ and _queens_. Doyoung wasn’t sure what was behind the doors, but he guessed it was dressing rooms, specialized for every worker. The hallways were cream colored and light, the carpet red with small yellow diamonds, and the lights a warm shade coming from sconces on the walls. It was plain, almost like a hotel hallway, but it was cozy and inviting. Nothing as Doyoung had expected. Truthfully, something in Doyoung had expected something grimey and dark and slightly illicit, considering what the front and back businesses were. He felt guilty for the assumption, chest slightly heavier than normal. He shouldn’t have expected that from Jungwoo of all people and even less from a business underneath Taeyong.

“Are you taking me to where the-” Doyoung didn’t finish his sentence, his face heating in a sudden bout of shyness he hadn’t expected from himself. 

Jungwoo looked over his shoulder at him with a sweetened sadistic tang, “Where the _business_ happens? No, that’s upstairs.” His tone was thoughtful as his long legs took equal strides that had Doyoung struggling to keep up as they wandered the hallway. Jungwoo had thrown on a black peacoat to fight the cold winter air and it only succeeded in making him look _bigger_ and more intimidating. Doyoung felt unnerved by Jungwoo- the man was so soft looking, but there was a sharp glint in his dark eyes that reminded Doyoung of ancient sharpened obsidian knives, the ones carved with runes and used for sacrifices. “We decided that we needed the more covert business to be kept where there’s _one_ exit and one exit alone. That way rule-breakers can be dealt with easily and swiftly.” 

Doyoung shivered at the sentiment in the last words, unsure of exactly why Jungwoo had meant, but he never got the chance to ask. The hallway ended and opened into a large, open room with couches and vanities littering the place. The walls were a pastel lilac shade that clashed horribly with the red carpet and blonde wood furniture and even _worse_ with the burnt orange and emerald green couches. Doyoung felt as though he had walked into a thrift store display area with the way the room was designed, but he supposed that everything looked comfortable and clean and truly, no guests would ever be entering the area. Still, he wondered if Jungwoo had intentionally made this area as ugly and unappealing as possible. 

Doyoung must have been making a face, because Jungwoo laughed cheekily, eyes glittering in the lighting. “It’s just _awful_ looking back here, isn’t it?” His voice was chimey and entertained and Doyoung began to think he was right about the scenery being intentional. “We had a problem, a while back, of certain _members_ attempting to coerce my girls into doing business here. It got real tiring, real fast, so I decided that the scenery would no longer be _sexy and eloquent_. The girls didn’t seem to mind it, but it did stop the others from hounding them.”

“A great decision, too, because I was getting ready to beat the shit out of some of them.” The voice came behind them, startling Doyoung into jumping forward slightly. When he whipped around he was met with the apparition of a beautiful woman. She was tall and thin, willowy in the same way Jungwoo was, with sharp features and dark skin. She wore comfortable looking clothing, her long hair in braided strands tied up in a bun with gold strings glittering in the warm lighting. “New guy is a little jumpy, huh?”

“He’s just shy,” Jungwoo said and then held a hand up to cover his mouth from Doyoung’s view, making Doyoung frown in response, unamused, “He doesn’t know how to talk to pretty girls.” 

The woman laughed, bright teeth shining in the light with a laugh equivalent to fairy chimes and Doyoung knew that this woman must have had any man easily wrapped around her fingers. “Well, lucky for him, I’m not interested.” She gave Doyoung an easy glance, reading him from toe to hair and nodded approvingly, “There’s definitely some women here who would _eat him up_ , though.”

Doyoung felt his tongue stick in his throat but took the woman’s hand when she offered it, admiring the smooth skin and the heavy callouses from where he assumed the pole would irritate. Her nails were long and sharp, black with gold tips that matched her hair. “Kiah, but my stage name is Goldilocks,” She gave a smirk and tapped a singular gold strand with her nail, “And you are?”

“Doyoung,” He said, voice finally emerging from his stupor. He glanced to Jungwoo, but the younger was of no assistance, seemingly enjoying the show that Doyoung’s socially inept nature was creating. “I’m Doyoung.” 

“Nice to meet you, Doyoung. I assume you’re one of Jungwoo’s _colleagues_?” 

Doyoung glanced nervously to Jungwoo, who shrugged and smiled, seeming unconcerned with the comment. Doyoung glanced to where Kiah was still holding his hand and figured he had no out in the situation. He nodded slowly, a stiff and broken motion, as he smiled much smaller and much weaker than before, “Yeah. Colleagues.” 

She retreated, seeming to sense his hesitance as she headed for one of the vanities, where she dropped the bag she was carrying. “Well, Doyoung. Make yourself at home. The other girls are going to _love_ you.”

“Love who?” Another voice trilled from behind him, much higher and less sweet than Kiah’s had been. “Oh, new man, hello.”

Doyoung turned to studied this woman. She was much shorter than him, head barely reaching his chest, and her hair was cropped and silver, spikey in random spots as though she had ran her fingers through it. She was pale with orangey freckles littering her nose and cheeks, eyes a brilliant shade of green and lined heavily in graphic black liner. Her ears were pierced up the entire cartilage and she wore a tight white set of flared pants and crop top, both of which accentuating her voluptuous curves. She looked oddly elf-like, black lips puckering as she assessed Doyoung with a critical gaze. “That’s Doyoung,” Kiah supplied from the background, “He’s new. Jungwoo was telling him about the redecoration of the place.”

“Oh, yeah, it was a good thing that Jungwoo changed the decor,” She perked up, a black nail tapping her chin, “I was about to kick that creeps ass.” 

“That’s what I said,” Kiah crooned, velvety voice higher now and Doyoung glanced between the two as the silver haired woman passed a sweet glance to Kiah, “Our minds, baby.” 

“I’m Sarah,” She offered, though she didn’t move to shake his hand so Doyoung kept his to himself as well, “I go by Silver on stage, though.”

Doyoung nodded, going to introduce himself, but another figure joined them, broad and tall and catching his eye immediately. Their dark hair was long enough to brush the mids of their ears in soft curls, brown eyes lined with thick eyeshadow and cheeks hollowed with a wide set jaw. They wore a plain tee shirt with a faded red plaid tossed over, blue jeans only adding to the completely casual aura they carried. They nodded to Jungwoo and Sarah before giving Doyoung a strange look, glancing him once over before shrugging and nodding to him as well. They skirted around the group, heading for one of the chairs and pulling out their phone, seemingly done with the introductions. 

“That’s Aris,” Jungwoo said with a wide smile full of what Doyoung thought to be pride. It reminded him of the way Jungwoo looked at the Dreamies in Taeyong’s living room as he coddled them sweetly, a bitter tasting memory. “They don’t talk much, so don’t feel offended. Come on, let’s go sit down while we wait for everyone to finish up in the rooms.”

“You mean, everyone is here?” Doyoung asked as Jungwoo’s fingers locked around his wrist once more, leading him to a couch without ever looking back. 

“Of course,” Jungwoo said and shoved him down by the shoulders. Doyoung went willingly. Doyoung doubted there would be a lot that he would deny Jungwoo and even less that Jungwoo would _let_ him decline. “They’re all freshening up before we get to preparing for the evening. The club doesn’t open until four, but we spend the day getting everything we need ready. _We_ were the late ones.” 

Doyoung didn’t really have a response, so he fell into silence with a nod as Jungwoo and Sarah began debating the likelihood of aliens _actually_ existing. Jungwoo was a disbeliever, much to Doyoung’s surprise. He wasn’t sure _why_ it was surprising, but he just never thought Jungwoo was a more _fact and logic_ based thinker- he had expected the flirtatious and doting man to be something more free than that. 

Doyoung was briefly introduced to the ever-growing crowd, though none paid him much mind. Mirr was a tall and curvy woman, much taller than Doyoung himself, with big eyelashes and golden glittery skin. YangYang was a lithe and boyishly cute man with floppy brown hair and excited eyes. At some point a set of twins unexpectedly joined, though one had bubblegum pink hair tied into pretty space buns who wore a bright yellow plaid skirt and top set, while the other had plain ash blonde hair that fell in a sheet around her shoulders who wore a simple baby blue button down and jeans, both of which having the softest features Doyoung could imagine- Hani and Jaime, respectively. Cara was one of the final people to enter the room and she was a _sight_ , Doyoung thought. Cara reminded him of Yuta, with the amount of piercings and the choppy black hair and the heavy boots and the tattoos that peered out from ripped clothing. 

“Cara is Kiah’s girlfriend,” Jungwoo supplied with a sweet smile, Cara glancing at the two with a heavy look. 

“He’s not some weird fetishist, right, Woo?” Cara’s voice was deeper than Jungwoo had expected, a silky kind of deep that came naturally rather than through any environmental factors. 

“No, he’s gay,” Jungwoo said perkily and when Cara only crossed her arms Jungwoo shrugged slightly, “And has a kind of boyfriend.” 

Doyoung scowled at him, crossing his own arms and pouting. “Yuta isn’t my boyfriend.” 

“Funny how you knew it was Yuta I was referencing.” Jungwoo winked and Doyoung felt his skin heat. “Besides, you go on dates and sleep together and text- what else is it other than being titleless boyfriends?”

Doyoung wasn’t sure why the air left his body at the accusation, but having it laid out so plainly made his head spin. Jungwoo seemed to move on quickly as though he were unsure of the mess he created within Doyoung’s mind- or perhaps he was very acutely aware of the mess he had created and wanted to leave Doyoung to stir his own thoughts. 

Still, Doyoung found himself perched on an armchair, listening to the amicable chattering of the crowded room as everyone got ready for the evening. Jungwoo had mentioned at some point that this wasn’t _all of his girls_ , but that they would be the same ones here tomorrow night. Doyoung vaguely registered the wink and whisper that some were his favorite but not to spread that information lest it cause jealousy or unrest. Doyoung wasn’t sure _who_ he would even tell, considering he didn’t know which Jungwoo had referred to to begin with.

Doyoung watched as some people disappeared into rooms, others sat at vanities, some even collapsing on the couch to pamper themselves pretty openly. Doyoung wasn’t sure where to look, eyes falling to his lap for most of the time he spent sitting, willing the time past. 

Jungwoo surprised him by speaking in his ear after what felt like perhaps an hour or a day or five minutes- Doyoung couldn’t tell, too lost in his own mind. “Come on, Doie, I’ll take you around the lounge.” 

Looking up, Doyoung realized he was no longer confronted with the androgynously handsome Jungwoo, but the traditionally beautiful Rose. He had seen Rose in photos many of times, the others occasionally referencing her as Jungwoo’s alter-ego and sometimes a throw away line of her being his work-ego. Jungwoo had shown him her, had once handed him a small blue photo album from the bookshelf in the living room, one that was slightly battered but sweet looking and full of Rose and her accomplishments. 

Jungwoo was immensely proud of Rose and Doyoung felt absolutely _preened_ upon meeting her.

Today, Rose had long brown curls that fell over her shoulders in perfect ringlets, the skin of her chest and shoulders entirely exposed thanks to the unusually deep neckline of the burgundy velvet dress, the skirt falling just to her thighs. The sleeves were simple and long and cuffed at her wrists, but there were a set of brocade cut outs along the curves of her shoulders. To finish off the look he wore a pair of matching velvet heels with multi-colored embroidered flowers by the toes. Gold jewelry hung off of her neck and ears and glittered prettily in the lighting, matching the honey tones of her hazel eyes. Her makeup was done prettily with eyeliner a matching shade to the rest of her outfit, a light blush and thick gloss accentuating her pretty features. She looked lovely, Doyoung thought. Flawless. 

“Alright,” Doyoung said, accepting her outstretched hand, “Let’s go.”

That night, Doyoung dreamt of hands. 

Hands touching his back, his chest, his neck, his legs. They held him from every angle, every direction. Stroking, gripping, pulling, holding. They covered his mouth and stifled his breathing and snuffed the life out from between ghostly fingers. 

He couldn’t _see_ anything, couldn’t identify the hands that held him nor the source of their existence. It was as though he had lost the ability of sight all together. 

He woke up in the darkness with a start, sweat dripping from his hairline as he panted for breath in the empty closet sized room. He supposed the dream came from the feeling of being in the crowded club, a sizeable turn out of patrons for a week-night. 

Doyoung had wondered how many of those roaming bodies belonged at home with a spouse, how many were there for something more illicit than drinks at a fancy bar. He wondered how many were there for sin upon sin upon sin until no amount of repentance could save them. Doyoung wondered how many were there because there was nothing for them at home. How many arrived in hopes of filling a vacant space that never seemed to fill, like a bottomless pit full of ever-sinking quicksand. 

Doyoung had enjoyed the night. 

It was a blur of crowds and dancing and Rose’s boisterous laugh as she flirted with anyone and everyone. She was enigmatic, beautiful and charming, more so than Jungwoo himself. It had been pleasant and fun and several of _Rose’s girls_ had snatched him away and taken Doyoung around the club after Rose’s initial tour.

Doyoung wanted to return. 

He wondered if that was a problem or not. If this lifestyle became more and more addicting to him, more and more _appealing_...Would he be able to leave it behind eventually? 

He didn’t know. 

It was all incredibly stressful and when under the influence of a bubbly and sweet vodka drink laced with something he was positive was illegal, it led to incoherent thoughts and dreams of being suffocated. 

Doyoung shivered. 

He crawled from bed, tossing the sheets aside and padding into the living room to hopefully escape the fog that hung in his room. He was surprised to find the kitchen occupied, broad and bare shoulders facing him as the man made what looked like a cup of tea. The room smelled like flowers and honey, something that immediately had Doyoung’s shoulders sinking in relief as he calmed. 

“A cup of tea?” Jaehyun’s baritone offered with only the slightest bit of sleep clinging to the edges. Doyoung wondered if he had slept at all or if the man was roaming the night as little more than a ghost and a memory. 

“Please,” Doyoung responded, collapsing onto the couch to stare at the worn coffee table. There were a few knicks and scratches, normal wear of such a piece of furniture, however one large dent looked like the tip of a knife and Doyoung shuddered as he ran his fingers over it. The size of the indent was the same as that of Yuta’s precious blade, the one he had yet to return that settled heavy like something far more intimate than a _borrowed blade_. 

Doyoung didn’t start when Jaehyun’s hand sunk silently next to him, depositing one old mug onto the table. Doyoung didn’t say anything about the lack of a coaster, the table marred with similar moisture rings already. He itched to set a napkin beneath it, though he doubted the mug would remain there for long enough to cause any damage. He supposed that it wouldn’t hurt the table, however, to have another mark added. What was one more ring in a surplus of damage?

Doyoung picked up the mug, chasing the thought. 

“Careful,” Jaehyun’s voice called, waving away the cobwebs forming in Doyoung’s mind, “You’ll catch the table on fire if you stare at it any harder.” 

Doyoung blushed, the steam from the tea leaving an instant trail of moisture on his skin. “I’m just thinking.” 

“About?” Jaehyun asked, craddling his own mug as he tucked his feet up onto the couch. Jaehyun was almost sitting in the fetal position, back pressed into the joint of the arm and the cushions as he faced Doyoung with an unexpectedly open, soft expression. 

This gang. This life. Jungwoo. Jaehyun. Taeyong. Crime. His exams. His career. The future. The lack of a future. Uncertainty. His parents. His mother. Blood. Blood. Blood. _So much blood_. Blood on a blade he knew was named. His blood. His blood drawn from someone he thought he could love if love was something he was capable of. 

There was no way Doyoung could express these thoughts. The words were held on his tongue, stifled with a pebble the size of a bullet. Instead he asked, “What’s your story?” 

Jaehyun paused, looking to the dark tea, then to Doyoung. A smile tugged his lips, dimples creasing into his cheeks so sweetly Doyoung almost forgot who they were. Jaehyun truly looked like a fairybook Prince- someone so charming and handsome. He was deceptively perfect. “Jealous?” 

“Curious,” Doyoung corrected, hands slipping around the mug to hold it in his suddenly clammy palms instead of his trembling fingers. “I don’t really know anything about you. Nothing solid. Just that you and Yuta were...kind of a thing? Still kind of are? And you and Jungwoo live together in a cabin. And Taeyong trusts you a lot. And you joined the gang because of Yuta.”

Jaehyun hummed and nodded, looking out to the night sky still covering the world. Out here, the stars were entirely visible, even from inside the homey building. Jaehyun paused for long enough that Doyoung wondered if he were going to speak again, tucking his own feet onto the couch to mirror his position. 

“When I met Yuta I was seventeen.” Jaehyun finally started, lips pucker and nose scrunching. “He and Taeyong had already formed just a tiny fraction of what Empathy would become. We met when I accidentally beat up one of his bookies.” 

Doyoung tilted his head, inquisitive on the details he was withholding. Jaehyun looked at him, his lips curving as though he could read all the unasked questions. “If you guessed Johnny, you’re right. It was actually kind of funny. I ran into Johnny and I thought he was pick-pocketing me. I didn’t beat the shit out of him, per se, but I laid him out. Within the next twenty minutes I was dragged into an alley and held up with a knife you’re _awfully_ familiar with. Yuta was cute back then; he had his natural hair and hadn’t quite formed this badass goth vibe he has going on now. He actually dressed kind of like a cute school boy with neat button downs and jeans. He looked too sweet to be carrying a knife like that.” 

Jaehyun sounded so fond it made Doyoung’s heart _ache_. 

“Well, one thing led to another and he let me live for some reason. I think it’s the dimples, honestly. He was a lot softer back then. I’m not even sure if he had killed anyone by that point. Anyways, I don’t listen very well and coincidentally found Johnny again one day when I was roaming after class. That time he was with Yuta again. It was dumb of me to just...go up to them like I did. If I had done that nowadays, Johnny would have used me as a dartboard. Back then he was far more interested in the chase than the kill, though.”

Doyoung hadn’t ever thought of Johnny as a violent killer, however there was always something unnerving about the man, something slightly _off_. He supposed he had to be in order to be the co-founder of… _This_.

“Johnny was the one to take me back to Taeyong, Yuta bitching the whole way. He was always against the idea of me tagging along. I don’t blame him, I was spending the entire time flirting with him. Well, long story short, Taeyong liked me. He liked me _a lot_. I became the first underage member- what we now call _the Dreamies_. I became an official member when I turned eighteen and it wasn’t until I was nineteen that I was able to get Yuta to cave and give me a chance.”

“What changed?” Doyoung felt like there was something sad connected to the words. It should’ve been a light emotion connected to such a confession. Jaehyun had been pining for Yuta’s attention for so long, it should’ve been _perfect_. Instead, Doyoung felt as though his heart had been carved from his chest by the downturn of Jaehyun’s lips. 

“I did,” Jaehyun sighed, sipping his tea. When he swallowed, he sighed, something forlorn as his eyes glazed. “I mean, I guess I never actually _changed_. I just...I realized something.” 

Jaehyun looked back to the night sky that had slowly begun bleeding indigo. Doyoung didn’t know what time it was, but morning would soon come with a dull light and he knew that with it, this privacy would melt away. Jaehyun, with morning, would turn back into the closed off flirt and Doyoung wanted to extract whatever information he could before the first sunrays graced the room. 

“Doyoung, you’re an educated man.” The train of thought that Doyoung had was stalled quickly by the change of topic. Jaehyun’s eyes fell on him and suddenly he felt as though he were sinking, sinking into a pool of molasses coated in ice as he struggled against the bricks tied to his ankles. He held his mug tighter to his chest as though he could protect himself against the sudden onslaught of pure _devastation_ that he found in Jaehyun’s gaze. “Tell me, what’s the reasonable response to falling in love with someone? What do you feel? What’s _normal_?”

“I’m not sure,” Doyoung confessed after a second, stuttering on his own tongue that felt as though it were foreign, “I’ve never been in love.”

“A guess,” Jaehyun said, almost desperately, “An educated guess.”

“Warm.” Doyoung said, thinking of the way that Yuta’s arms felt and the comfort they brang. “Comfortable. Nice. I think it feels something like pure happiness. Want. Desire. Something Sweet. I imagine it to be all-consuming, but also encouraging.”

Jaehyun nodded slowly, looking into his mug. Doyoung could see the disappointment laced between the cracks of his mask. It wasn’t an unfamiliar expression to him, Doyoung could tell; it wasn’t like he hadn’t ever experienced this moment before. It looked as though he were tired and familiar and all too expecting of such a feeling. Doyoung ached again. 

“I didn’t feel that.” Jaehyun said slowly, body both curling inwards but relaxing as though he were freeing himself. It was confusing, his body language, and Doyoung slowly was able to recognize it. It was the same way he could have imagined himself looking when he came out to his parents the first time. Exposed but free, open and honest but _so very closed off_. “I felt… _Nothing_. It was so strange because I cared so deeply for him, but...I couldn’t find an ounce of love within myself. Not the kind of love _I should have felt_. I could feel the warmth, I could feel the care, I could feel the want. But there was no love, no _romantic_ love. Yuta, though...Yuta felt it. He felt it deeply and I...I could not feel it.”

“Aromantic.” Doyoung supplied, voice as meek as the steam dying in his tea. Jaehyun flinched as though Doyoung had slapped him, but Doyoung repeated anyways, “You’re aromantic.” 

After the briefest moment, Jaehyun nodded. “I am.”

“And Yuta felt like it was his fault.” Doyoung added, expression melting as he felt the empathetic pulling of his heart. 

“He did.” Jaehyun agreed quietly, looking at Doyoung with such a burning feeling that Doyoung almost cried _for_ him. “He took it harshly. Not because he has any prejudice against the orientation just...He felt betrayed. I pursued him for so long, made him fall for me...then told him that I could never love him.”

Doyoung flinched, mirroring Jaehyun’s earlier reaction. He could feel the sting of such a harsh reaction. 

“I could have let him down easier,” Jaehyun said, voice distant as his fingers tapped a rhythm on his ceramic. “I was harsher than I intended. Now here we are. I feel closer to him than any other person, but...I also feel like there’s something between us- something I’ll never be able to break through. I don’t know if I put it there, or if he did, but it’s _there_. That’s our story. I’m sorry it’s not something more pleasant.” 

_Our story_. Doyoung wondered when it became less about Jaehyun and more about _them all_. 

Everything was so interconnected that it felt impossible to learn about one member without learning about another. 

“I don’t think there’s a lot of pleasant stories that comes with this life.” Doyoung finally said into the heavy yet airless atmosphere. The sun was just eating at the sky, the morning arriving with a pure magenta shade that looked like a fresh bruise. Doyoung figured the world was as injured as they were in that moment. “I think most things in this life are tainted with something truly awful.” 

Jaehyun laughed lightly, the sound hollow and falling like a decaying tree. “There’s very few things in this life we are given that is promised, Doyoung.” 

Doyoung’s eyes met Jaehyun’s levelly as the room filled with the shades of morning. Doyoung could see the dark puffiness of Jaehyun’s eyes from here. He hadn’t slept. Doyoung wondered if Jaehyun could see the lingering hands still chasing Doyoung from his nightmare now that the room was no longer bathed in darkness and the dim light of the stove. 

“Sunlight and death.” Doyoung looked to the window where the first few raindrops fell onto the glass with light marks. Jaehyun’s eyes hadn’t left him, his voice as soft as the rain that would inevitably begin pouring as he added on, “And sometimes not even those.”

Jungwoo took Doyoung with him to work again that evening. This time he had him dressed up neatly in a navy silk shirt tucked into black slacks with navy pinstripes and white dress shoes. A suede white blazer was tossed over his shoulders and Jungwoo had slicked his hair back to expose his forehead, though several strands fell into his gaze occasionally. 

Jungwoo had purred his appraisal as the two sat in his room, his fingers dancing over his shoulders with lovely pressure.

Rose walked next to Doyoung as they entered through the back, the club already alive with music and guests and the sins that trailed them all. Rose wore an emerald colored silk slip dress tonight, long enough to brush her ankles, though a slit up one side exposed the entire expanse of her smooth leg and the white sheer stockings held by garter straps to the smooth silk band around her waist. Doyoung felt tantalized when her panties peeked out from the high slit occasionally, the cream lace so dainty he worried it wouldn’t hide much. 

Rose stood a few centimeters taller than Doyoung naturally, but the violent red pumps she chose tonight had her standing at Johnny’s height, perhaps taller. Her makeup was done darkly with thick eyeliner curving her eyes upwards and outwards like a fox’s, her hair orange and bobbed only adding to the illusion. Red lipstick shone line vinyl on her lips and it made Doyoung’s mouth dry upon sight. 

A cream fur shawl was draped along her biceps wrapped in faux modesty, as she walked with a heavy sway in her step. Doyoung felt as though he were accompanying a 1920’s socialite and in some ways, he supposed he was. 

Rose left him in the seating area of the lower lounge with a sweet kiss to his cheek and a promise to find him later. 

Doyoung wasn’t sure what to do with himself as he stood amongst the milling crowd. He recognized several of Rose’s _girls_ as they entertained clients in flashy outfits matching Rose’s aesthetic. Doyoung supposed they had themed nights and tonights was 20’s burlesque. 

“Fancy meeting your company here.” Doyoung jolted at the familiar voice speaking into his ear. He whipped around to face none other than Johnny looking as though he could charm the devil into selling his soul. Johnny wore an inky black shirt that reflected like oil in the light, black slacks elongating him as usual and plain oxfords to accompany. A sleek black velvet blazer was draped over one arm neatly, the maroon silk lining just barely visible. His hair was slicked back like Doyoung’s, though on him it looked like he had walked from the shower and styled so effortlessly. Silver decorated his ear and cufflinks, a delicate necklace with a dragon nestled in the crease of his pecs and Doyoung swore he was wearing eyeliner. 

“What are you doing here?” Doyoung asked, feeling oddly exposed underneath his gaze. Johnny still felt like he knew too much, like he read Doyoung’s journal in his absence. The thought made him tremble slightly. 

“I’m here for the show,” Johnny said simply, gesturing to the stage, “Rose puts on the best performances on Friday’s.” 

Doyoung knew that was the truth, but only part of it. He didn’t say anything as Johnny directed him to a booth with a prime view of where Rose would stand when she entered. He simply slid onto the slick seat and allowed himself to be commanded like the leashed pet he was. 

Johnny slid in next to him, arm draped over the back of the seat. The waiter came and left and Doyoung missed the entire thing as his mind was overcome with the scent of cloves and sandalwood and something sweet like vanilla or cookies that Johnny carried tonight. When their drinks came, Johnny slid one to Doyoung and took his own whiskey. A mojito, Doyoung noted belatedly, sipping the drink quietly. 

It calmed his nerves immensely and by the time he had finished the first drink he was settled comfortably into Johnny’s side. He again didn’t notice when the waiter stopped by, but his drink was replaced quickly and he was grateful. He felt as though he would need it. 

“You’re awfully clingy tonight.” Johnny commented with a playful hum, his drink pressed to his lips, “You haven’t been gone from home that long, already so needy?” 

Doyoung’s mind stalled on the word _home_ and the implications it once again carried. Still he made a sound awfully like a purr and pressed his lips to Johnny’s chin far too boldly. “Perhaps.”

Johnny’s laugh was deep and rolling and it swallowed Doyoung like the ocean. When Johnny’s head turned and his lips engulfed Doyoung’s once again he was reminded of a distant conversation they’d had. _Thalassophobia_. Perhaps Johnny was nothing more than the depths of the ocean ready to swallow him whole with one wrong move and maybe Doyoung was _fine_ with the fear that accompanied his lips. As long as Johnny tasted like whiskey and offerings, Doyoung found himself ready to plunge to the depths. 

His lips were soft and his hands adventurous. The thing about Johnny was he didn’t ask for permission and instead waited for a delincing response; he did what he wanted until he was refused and something about it lit the inside of Doyoung’s chest on fire. 

Johnny’s hand had found the curve of his thigh, fingers pressing idly into the flesh there, tracing unseen patterns against borrowed fabric. Doyoung was quickly unravelling, almost panting against his lips as though he were running from something- something safe, something welcoming. Doyoung was running from everything sane. 

Doyoung startled when a presence slid into the booth next to him, sandwiching him against Johnny further. Johnny’s lips didn’t leave his, however, a broad hand coming up to grip his chin and hold him still. A second set of lips found their place on Doyoung’s neck, tracing the curve with a warm tongue and blunt teeth. 

“Oh, my pretty bunny has been caught by a bear, it seems.” 

_Taeyong_. 

Doyoung groaned into Johnny’s mouth, the two catching the sound just barely above the noise. Doyoung almost forgot they were in public, the alcohol soothing him just enough to lose himself in such a fluffy headspace. 

Taeyong’s fingers joined Johnny’s on his thigh, though his fingers trailed higher up the muscle, searching for wherever Doyoung was tucked. Doyoung had an inkling he wasn’t leaving the booth with his senses intact. 

Doyoung’s lips parted for Johnny’s tongue easily when Taeyong’s fingers finally found his member pressed against his inner thigh, half hard and willing, waiting. Taeyong greedily massaged him, grinding the fabric against him with harsh and careful movements. His mouth hadn’t ceased its movements on his neck, having unbuttoned several of his buttons at some point to expose the muscled juncture of his neck and shoulder. Taeyong undoubtedly left several hickies in his wake, teeth never ceasing and his mouth broke him down. 

Doyoung realized this was the first time Taeyong had ever taken initiative into fondling him instead of just watching another take him apart. He wondered if it had anything to do with such an open, public setting. Taeyong liked the dominance of controlling someone, of forceful but willing submission. Doyoung could guess that taking him apart like this in such a non-personal environment was just another way for him to cling to every bit of Doyoung’s being and control him entirely. 

Doyoung didn’t resist. 

He let Taeyong unzip his slacks when the fabric became uncomfortably tight as he outgrew it. He let Taeyong’s fingers slip over the head of his leaking dick and steal his precum as barely working lube for such a tight grasp. He let the man work him over until he was no longer able to kiss Johnny, his lips falling from his as he planted his forehead to Johnny’s to just focus on the ability to _breathe_. 

He came unexpectedly, with a shushed cry as he bit Johnny’s dress shirt in response. His hips kicked as he orgasmed, his back tensing against Taeyong’s shoulder and chest as he continued to jerk him through it. It was a sloppy orgasm, full of spit and mumbled words and the white noise of a busy lounger and more cum than he thought his body could handle. He hadn’t gotten off since his arrival to Jungwoo’s and he was only realizing belatedly how desperate his body had been that it only took a half-assed handjob to get him off. 

Johnny was the one to tuck Doyoung back in, hands moving gracefully over him as Doyoung glanced to Taeyong for the first time. Taeyong was dressed in gold; his shirt was pure gold and reflected as such in the lighting, his suit a baby blue with rustic gold filigree designs, and earrings dangling from his ears. Doyoung thought that anyone else would look incredibly tacky in such a getup, but Taeyong made it look _expensive_. 

He watched as Taeyong’s glitter covered eyelids closed as he licked the cum from his hand with a soft tongue. Doyoung was so drunk off of the alcohol and hormones he couldn’t truly process his thoughts but his cock did. He could go another round, he thought distantly. 

Taeyong pressed a kiss to his lips when he had finished, wiping his hand dirtily on the tablecloth as his tongue swiped over Doyoung’s bottom lip. He pulled away quickly, leaving behind only the remnants of cum and spit on his mouth with a villainous grin. 

“The shows starting soon. Better watch.”

Doyoung knew Jungwoo was a singer, but Rose was a _performer_. Her voice was every bit sultry and sweet that Doyoung had suspected it would be and she held the crowd rapt in her performance. 

True to their word, Johnny and Taeyong had honestly come to watch Rose perform and they left shortly after she finished. Taeyong gave him a promise of another private moment and Johnny had simply fixed his shirt and hair with a sweet smile. 

Doyoung didn’t know how he had managed to survive the two as long as he had. 

He was on his fourth drink and some cheese and crackers when a familiarly pretty face bounced into his vision. Kiah, or Goldilocks as he remembered her, surprised him with a slightly frantic look. “Hey, Rose wanted me to come get you. Something is...Happening.”

It took him a second to process the words, but his body seemed to react to the command before his mind did. He was following her through the crowd and into the back as his mind was still catching up. He wondered how deeply affected he was, how _trained_ he had become, that a simple command had his body in action without thought. 

He tried not to linger on it, focusing on the blur of colors as his mind tried to sober up. 

He was led up the back stairs, towards the area where he knew Jungwoo’s side business was located. The door to a room at the end of the L shaped floor was ajar and Doyoung could vaguely hear the sounds of an argument happening within the room. 

When Kiah lead them both inside, Doyoung almost stumbled in his fear when Rose’s eyes landed on him. She looked _murderous_. Kiah closed the door behind Doyoung, but he barely registered the sound of the click as his eyes fell onto the man in the desk seat. 

He looked familiar, but in Doyoung’s slightly drunken haze he couldn’t pinpoint _from where_. His clothing was messy and his face was flushed and it looked as though he had been roughed up a bit before Doyoung’s entrance. Aris was standing in the back of the room next to a shaken up Sarah. Aris looked as though they were putting a barrier between the two, an aggressive stance that Doyoung hadn’t expected.

Slowly the puzzle pieces clicked together as he noticed the blood that had dried on the collar of Sarah’s high-necked cream slip dress. Rage shot through Doyoung, something violent and hot like a branding iron settling in his chest. He wasn’t sure where it originated from, nor how it became so invasively strong for someone he had known for barely two days, but it lit him up from the inside out. 

He felt suddenly sober, but far less inhibited than he would have been if he had actually been sober. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Doyoung’s voice was far raspier than normal, an anger boiling in his fingertips that he hadn’t felt _in years_. He was shaking, almost trembling, as his body fought to keep itself under control. 

The man, _the incredibly familiar man_ , continued to stare at Doyoung with an expression that said he knew him as well. 

When he didn’t speak, Doyoung stepped forward and the man spat out a half formed slur directed at the still shaken woman. It wasn’t Doyoung who reached the man first, however, as it was Rose who procured a familiar knife from the slit in her dress and slammed it through the man’s hand on the desk. There was a sickening sound that accompanied the force that Rose used to pin the man there; the sound of crunching bones and tear flesh and the horrible sound of the blade hitting solid wood. The man screamed, the sound echoing and feral and perhaps the worst thing that Doyoung had ever heard. 

The sound snapped Doyoung out of whatever enraged trance he had fallen into, his blood running cold as he watched Rose wipe the blood from her hand with a tissue she fished from the box on her desk. Rose tossed the used paper at the man’s head with an unimpressed look, listening to the whimpering and sobbing as the man fell apart at the desk. He tugged his hand occasionally, gripping at his wrist and looking like a rat caught in a trap. 

Rose looked so impassive, so uninterested, that she might as well have been staring at a chip in the paint. 

“He was trying to get information out of Sarah.” Rose said into the open air and it took Doyoung a second to recognize she was addressing him. “I think whatever rat-pack we snuffed out managed to have a few survivors left alive.”

Doyoung felt his throat tighten as the memory of being drugged and kidnapped, the terror of being held hostage entirely in someone else’s control and only the hope that Taeyong’s crew was smart enough to find him before he was executed. It was as close to hell as Doyoung thought he had ever experienced. 

“I’m going to call Utah and have him bring Yoonoh over here to clean up this mess.” Rose said simply, finally looking at Doyoung with another impassive look that had him trembling. 

Doyoung nodded slowly, understanding what that meant for the man and himself. 

Doyoung wondered if he would ever return home at this rate.

Jungwoo fucked like he didn’t care about his partner. 

It was such an odd juxtaposition to the way that Jungwoo handled everyone usually. Typically the man was doting and sweet and so gentle with everyone. In bed, however, Doyoung found that Jungwoo was rather self-centered and out for himself. It wasn’t _bad_ , but it was _unexpected_. 

He had cornered Doyoung the moment they arrived home, the thrill of the night apparently riling the man into a frenzy. Doyoung had been caught off guard and slung against the front door like a ragdoll as Jungwoo had made quick work of his mouth and clothes alike. Doyoung couldn’t say he minded, especially not as Jungwoo shuffled the two into his room and laid Doyoung out on his pink sheets like a prized possession. 

Jungwoo had prepped him quickly, flinging his wig and dress off. He hadn’t even removed his panties for the first round, simply slipping his cock out and fucking Doyoung open easily. 

Doyoung was stretched now with one thigh pressed to his chest as Jungwoo’s hips arched into his with aggressive thrusts that left him whining into the air with heated pants that were barely heard above Jungwoo’s own noises. Another thing about Jungwoo was that he was as loud as he was topping as he was bottoming, his sweet voice filling the air regardless as he fucked Doyoung like he was nothing more than a toy.

It did something to Doyoung’s brain, knowing that he was little more than an inanimate object in this- a willing and lax participant. Something to be used and used and _used_. 

He felt mushy.

His brain barely kept up with the sensations rolling through him with overwhelming force. The alcohol he had consumed was almost entirely burnt off by now, but something about Jungwoo was so intoxicating he might as well have been drunk still. 

Doyoung could barely cling to his biceps as his body fought for _another_ orgasm- Doyoung lost count now how many he had had and perhaps he hadn't ever really _stopped_ orgasming. It could’ve been one long experience and he just wasn’t _aware_. Doyoung’s nails dug into Jungwoo’s skin as his body arched and clenched, cumming again with a pathetic dribble that had Jungwoo giggling. 

“Oh you’re so pretty when you cum!” His voice was joviant, light as though he were once again praising Doyoung’s outfit, “I understand Yuta’s fascination with you, you’re just _lovely_ to fuck.” 

Doyoung would have cried if his body could produce any more moisture, instead he simply whimpered into the late night and held onto him as though it would keep him sane. He hadn’t known fucking Jungwoo would be like this, would be _this_ mind-numbing. If he had, he would have done it sooner. 

Jungwoo pulled out, much to his dismay. Jungwoo slapped his thigh for the pitiful sound he made and tsked as he worked on flipping Doyoung over. He didn’t ask, didn’t question Doyoung’s comfort. He simply moved him like a doll into position and then lined their hips back up to begin fucking him once more. 

Doyoung was sure that Jungwoo came at some point, but his hips had barely stuttered for a moment before he had began his pattern up again. Doyoung’s thighs were messy with the strawberry lube and Jungwoo’s cum and _his_ cum. It was a mess. 

Jungwoo seemed to like it that way, though.

Doyoung was startled by the bedroom door opening, though he was unable to look up due to Jungwoo’s hand threaded in his hair and keeping his face pushed into the pastel pink sheets. If he had been told a year ago he would be getting railed from behind by a drag queen pimp with a _Hello Kitty_ themed bedroom he would have thought it to be an acid trip prophecy. Doyoung still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream. 

“Hey, Jae,” Jungwoo panted, sounding winded as he continued to keep Doyoung’s back arched with his free hand, “How’d it go?” 

Doyoung felt a little embarrassed that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, the sounds falling out of his forcefully spread lips by the pressure of the mattress. He knew Jaehyun was watching him, studying him. He wondered if he would tell Yuta what he saw, if he would describe it to the man. Maybe he’d tell Taeyong. For some reason the thought worked his body up more than anything else, muscles flexing and clenching around Jungwoo who stuttered and hissed in response. 

“Oh fuck, you little minx,” Jungwoo panted and dug his fingers into his hips with a rougher thrust, “Do it again and I’ll fuck another load into you.”

Doyoung felt a bolt of shock rip through him as Jungwoo continued his even pace while Jaehyun spectated from the doorway. 

“It went fine.” Jaehyun said smoothly, sounding entirely unaffected by the sight in front of him as though he were used to this. This certainly wasn’t the first time he had seen Jungwoo like this and with every passing second Doyoung felt more like a toy than a partner. “He’s been taken care of. Yuta and I put him down.”

Jungwoo snorted but didn’t ask any more questions on the matter, switching the focus of his conversation. “He looks pretty like this, doesn’t he?” 

“Taeyong has taste.” Jaehyun responded, his words slightly muffled, though hitting Doyoung in the chest. He didn’t address Jungwoo nor Yuta nor himself- he addressed _Taeyong_. As though Taeyong were the one bending him in every which way he decided to, as if Taeyong were the one controlling him, moving him, fucking him. Everything always led back to Doyoung being _his_ and the realization made him whimper into the sheets. A dry orgasm chased up his thighs and abdomen and left him sobbing into the air with broken words that no one heard. 

Jungwoo pried his head up to force him to meet Jaehyun’s eyes. He held him there by his hair, fucking him in fluid motions that never faultered as the two maintained eye contact. 

“Don’t take your eyes off of him.” Jungwoo warned, voice deathly serious, “ _Watch him_.”

Doyoung didn’t know who the order was for, but he held Jaehyun’s gaze all the same. Jaehyun looked impassive, though there was a distinct shape filling out his jeans that made Doyoung’s mouth water. He wasn’t sure how his body could want _more_ , but it certainly did. 

Jungwoo gave a harsh moan when he came this time, hips flush against Doyoung’s as he ground inside of him in sharp movements. Doyoung only whimpered, quiet and controlled while Jaehyun watched _everything_.

When Jungwoo finally pulled out, he dipped his head between Doyoung’s cheeks to lick at his overly sensitive and abused hole, making him whimper brokenly, pathetically. He made no comment, though, mouth just hanging open as he kept his eyes on Jaehyun.

It was a moment after Jungwoo finally pulled away that Doyoung collapsed to the sheets, giving into his muscle exhaustion. Jungwoo was massaging his hips gently when Jaehyun spoke, “Hey, bunny?” Doyoung looked up, eyes lidded and heavy as they landed on Jaehyun’s still unreadable expression. “You think you could take more?” 

Doyoung just nodded weakly against the sheets.

Doyoung could barely walk the next day, but both Jaehyun and Jungwoo were out of the cottage for work and it left him there bored and lonely. He managed to take a long bath that soothed most of his aches, but boredom was still harassing his never-resting mind. Finally, he left the cottage in a flurry, dressing in a sweatshirt and jeans and stealing the car not in use. 

He was only heading to a convenience store to grab some ice cream in hopes of soothing his tired and achy cravings, the nearest one at the edge of town twenty minutes away. However, less than a mile away from the towns entry, police sirens flared up in the rear window and made him curse.

He pulled off the road, hands on the steering wheel as he glowered at the officers that exited the vehicle. Once again, two familiar forms made their way to the car, except this time with guns drawn and tight expressions. 

Doyoung wondered what kind of shit he had gotten into this time and _why_ they were moving like this at a simple traffic stop. Officer Qian stepped just adjacent to the car as Doyoung rolled down the window. “Can I help you officer?” 

“Put your hands on your head.” He responded with a sharp order, weapon still drawn and aimed directly at him. Doyoungs heart was in his throat as the officer stared at him. 

Slowly, Doyoung did as he said, hands falling to his head. “What is this about?” 

Kun ripped the door open with a harsh noise that sounded an awful lot like the beating of Doyoung’s heart in his ears. “With your right hand, unbuckle your seatbelt.”

Doyoung followed wordlessly. The click of the belt reminded him far too closely of that of a cocking gun and it sent a trembling rush of adrenaline through him. The situation became apparent to him in that moment; he was stranded out here, in the woods, alone with two cops already familiar to him. 

“Out of the car.” 

Doyoung followed the order silently. He grunted on the impact of the officers body as he shoved him against the rear door, handcuffing him quickly. He spoke his rights with a strained voice and explained the charges. 

_Stolen vehicle and connection to murder_. 

As he was shoved roughly into the backseat once again, he wondered just how the fuck he was supposed to be rescued this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a few things happened that made me need to take a step back from this fic for a bit: i’ve been having some severe chronic pains and one of my close family members recently has been diagnosed with a long-term health condition, both of which sent me into a really….not great place mentally and i couldn’t focus on writing something so dark while i felt like that (bc idk if you’ve noticed or not…...but this fic is heavy lmao). Also, i lost this entire fic. My computer crashed while i had a couple docs open and i lost ALL the progress on this fic and several others so that fucking sucked. Anyways i never ever plan on abandoning this fic because it’s genuinely one piece of work i feel super proud of in terms of writing and plot. I feel like this is one of the most cohesive and fascinating things i’ve ever had the pleasure of writing, but it’s also very, very draining and when i started this i didn’t expect the world (and my world) to become…...just so dark aha. Anyways. I know it’s frustrating to be reading a story with such slow updates and an extended hiatus but i don’t plan on dropping it, ever. Just….please don’t leave mean comments/cc’s, that really doesn’t help me or encourage me to write more/faster (and i just delete them anyways so it’s a waste of time) :/ most of you have been just fucking wonderful though so thank you for that. Thank you for being patient and for sticking by this story because i genuinely do love it and appreciate you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


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